BANCROFT    LIBRARY 


THE 


PIRATES  OF  THE  PRAIRIES; 


OB, 


ADVENTURES  IN  THE  AMERICAN  DESERT. 


BY 


GUSTAVE    AIMAKD. 

AUTHOR  OP  "THE  TRAIL  HUNTER,"  "THE  PRAIRIE  FLOWER,"  "THE  INDIAN 

SCOUT,"  "THE  TRAPPER'S  DAUGHTER,"  "THE  TIGER  SLAYER,"  "THE 

GOLD  SEEKERS,"  "THE  INDIAN  CHIEF,"  "THE  BORDER  RIFLES," 

"THE  FREEBOOTERS,"  "THE  WHITE  SCALPER,"  "THE  TRAPPERS 

OF  THE  ARKANSAS,"  "  THE  CHIEF  OF  THE  AUCAS,"  «  THE 

RED  TRACK,"  "  THE  LAST  OF  THE  INCAS,"  "  THE 

QUEEN  OF  THE  SAVANNAH,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


COMPLETE  AND  UNABRIDGED  EDITION. 


T.   B.   PETERSON    &    BROTHEKS; 

306    CHESTNUT    STREET 


PZs 


A 


X 


PKEFACE. 


THE  present  is  the  second  of  the  series  of  Indian  tales,  com 
mencing  with  the  "  Trail  Hunter,"  and  which  will  be  completed 
in  one  more  volume,  entitled  the  "  Trapper's  Daughter."  It  must 
be  understood,  however,  that  each  of  these  volumes  is  complete  in 
itself,  although  the  characters  already  introduced  to  the  reader  are 
brought  on  the  stage  again,  and  continue  their  surprising  adven 
tures  through  succeeding  works.  For  this,  Gustave  Aimard  can 
quote  the  example  of  his  predecessor,  Fenimore  Cooper,  whose 
"  Deer  Slayer,"  appears  in  a  long  succession  of  volumes,  not  neces 
sarily  connected,  but  which  all  repay  perusal.  I  believe  that  few 
who  have  commenced  with  one  volume  of  Cooper's  Indian  tales, 
but  have  been  anxious  to  follow  the  hero  through  the  remainder 
of  his  adventures;  and  I  sincerely  trust  that  a  perusal  of  the 
"  Pirates  of  the  Prairies"  may  lead  to  a  demand  for  the  other 
volumes  by  the  same  author,  which  have  already  appeared,  and  for 
those  which  have  still  to  follow. 

LASCELLES  WEAXALL. 

(15) 


CONTENTS. 


CBAPTBR.  PAOK 

I. — The  Cache 19 

IL — The  Ambuscade 24 

III. — An  Old  Acquaintance  of  the  Reader 27 

IY.—  Red  Cedar  at  Bay ? 30 

Y.— The  Grotto 33 

YL — The  Proposition 37 

YIL—  Ellen  and  Dona  Clara 40 

rIIL— The  Flight -13 

»     IX. — The  Teocali 46 

X.— The  White  Gazelle 50 

XL— The  Apaches 54 

XII— Black  Cat 58 

XIIL — The  Great  Medicine 62 

XIV.—  The  Succor 66 

XY. — On  the  Island 69 

XVL— Sunbeam....../ 73 

XYIL— Indian  Hospitality 77 

XYIIL—  Love! 80 

XIX. — The  Dance  of  the  Old  Dogs 84 

XX.— A  Hand-to-hand  Fight 87 

XXL — The  Avenger 92 

XXIL— Explanatory 96 

XXIIL — Apaches  and  Comanches 99 

XXIY.—  The  Scalp-Dance 103 

XXY.—  The  Torture. 107 

(IT) 


18  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTEE  PAQB 

XXVI— Two  Women's  Hearts 110 

XXVIL— Shaw 115 

XXYIIL— The  Departure 119 

XXIX.— The  Ambuscade . 123 

XXX.— The  Pirate's  Confession 126 

XXXI.— The  Rivals 131 

XXXIL— Fray  Ambrosio 135 

XXXIII.—  The  Trail 138 

XXXIV.—  The  Hunt 142 

XXXV.—  The  Combat 146 

XXXYL— The  Earthquake 148 


THE 


PIRATES  OF  THE  PRAIRIES. 


BY   GUSTAVE   AIIARD. 


CHAPTER   I. 


THE    CACHE. 

Two  months  have  elapsed  since  we 
left  the  Trail-Hunter  commencing  his 
adventurous  journey,  and  we  are  in  the 
heart  of  the  desert. 

Before  us  immensity  is  unfolded. 

What  pen,  however  eloquent,  would 
venture  to  describe  those  illimitable 
oceans  of  verdure  to  which  the  North 
Americans  have  in  their  imagery,  given 
the  poetic  and  mysterious  name  of  the 
Far  West?  that  is  to  say,  the  truly 
unknown  region,  with  its  scenes  at  once 
grand  and  striking,  soft  and  terrible ; 
unbounded  prairies  in  which  may  be 
found  that  rich  and  luxuriant  Flora, 
against  whose  magic  growth  only  the 
Indian  can  successfully  struggle. 

These  plains,  at  the  first  glance,  offer 
the  dazzled  eye  of  the  rash  traveller 
who  ventures  on  them  a  vast  carpet  of 
verdure  embossed  with  flowers,  furrow 
ed  by  large  streams  ;  and  they  appear 
of  a  desperate  regularity,  mingling  in  the 
horizon  with  the  azure  of  the  sky. 

It  is  only  by  degrees,  when  the  sight 
grows  accustomed  to  the  picture,  that, 
gradually  mastering  the  details,  the 


visitor  notices  here  and  there  rather 
lofty  hills,  the  escarped  sides  of  the 
water -courses,  and  a  thousand  unexpect 
ed  accidents  which  agreeably  break 
that  monotony  by  which  the  eye  is  at 
first  saddened,  and  which  the  lofty  grass 
and  the  giant  productions  of  the  Flora 
completely  conceal. 

How  can  we  enumerate  the  products 
of  this  primitive  nature,  which  form  an 
inextricable  confusion  and  interlace 
ment,  describing  majestic  curves,  pro 
ducing  grand  arcades,  and  offering,  in  a 
word,  the  most  splendid  and  sublime 
spectacle  it  was  ever  given  to  man  to 
admire  through  its  eternal  contrasts 
and  striking  harmony  ? 

Above  the  gigantic  ferns,  themezquite, 
the  cactuses,  nopals,  larches,  and  fruit- 
laden  arbutuses,  rise  the  mahogany 
tree  with  its  oblong  leaves,  the  moriche, 
or  pine-tree,  the  Sbanijo,  whose  wide 
leaves  are  shaped  like  a  fan,  the  pirijao, 
from  which  hang  enormous  clusters  of 
golden  fruit,  the  royal  palm  whose  stem 
is  denuded  of  foliage,  and  balances  its 
majestic  and  tufted  head  at  the  slightest 
breath ;  the  Indian  cane,  the  lemon  tree, 
the  guava,  the  plantain,  the  chindroya, 
or  intoxicating  fruit,  the  oak,  the  pine 
tree,  and  the  wax  palm,  distilling  its 
resinous  gum. 

£19] 


THE   PIRATES   OF   THE   PRAIRIES, 


Then,  there  are  immense  fields  of 
dahlias,  flowers  whiter  than  the  snows 
of  the  Caffre  de  Perote  or  the  Chimbo- 
razo,  or  redder  than  blood,  immense 
lianas  twining  and  circling  round  the 
stems  of  trees  and  vines  overflowing 
with  sap ;  and  in  the  midst  of  this  in 
extricable  chaos  fly,  run,  and  crawl,  in 
every  direction,  animals  of  all  sorts  and 
sizes,  birds,  quadrupeds,  reptiles,  am 
phibious,  singing,  crying,  howling  and 
roaring  with  every  note  of  the  human 
gamut,  some  mocking  and  menacing, 
others  soft  and  melancholy. 

The  stags  and  deer  bounding  timidly 
along,  with  ear  erect  and  eye  on  the 
watch,  the  bighorn  leaping  from  rock 
to  rock,  and  then  resting  motionless  on 
the  verge  of  a  precipice,  the  heavy  and 
stupid  buffaloes  with  their  sad  eyes ;  the 
wild  horses,  whose  numerous  manadas 
make  the  earth  re-echo  in  their  purpose 
less  chase  ;  the  alligator,  with  its  body 
in  the  mud,  and  sleeping  in  the  sun ; 
the  hideous  iguana  carelessly  climbing 
up  a  tree ;  the  puma,  that  maneless 
lion ;  the  panther  and  jaguar  cunningly 
watch  their  prey  as  it  passes ;  the  brown 
bear,  that  gluttonous  honey-hunter  ;  the 
grizzly,  the  most  formidable  denizen  of 
these  countries  ;  the  cotejo,  with  its 
venomous  bite ;  the  chameleon,  whose 
skin  reflects  every  hue ;  the  green  lizard, 
and  the  basilisk  crawling  silent  and 
sinister  beneath  the  leaves;  the  mon 
strous  boa,  the  coral  snake,  so  small 
and  yet  so  terrible ;  the  cascabel,  the 
macaurel,  and  the  great  striped  serpent. 

The  feathered  flock  sing  and  twitter 
on  the  branches,  hidden  beneath  the 
dense  foliage  ;  the  tanagers,  the  curassos, 
the  chattering  ZZoros,  the  haras,  the  fly 
catcher,  the  toucans,  with  their  enor 
mous  beaks,  the  pigeons,  the  trogons, 
the  elegant  rose  flamingos,  the  swans 
balancing  and  sporting  in  the  streams, 
and  the  light  and  graceful  gray  squir 
rels  leaping  with  unimaginable  speed 
from  creeper  to  creeper,  from  shrub  to 
shrub. 

In  the  highest  regions  of  air,  hpvering 
in  long  circles  over  the  prairie,  the  eagle 
of  the  Sierra  Madre,  with  wide-spread 
wings,  and  the  bald-headed  vulture, 
select  the  prey  on  which  they  dart  with 
the  rapidity  of  lightning. 


Then,  suddenly,  crushing  under  his 
horse's  hoofs  the  sand  and  gold-studded 
pebbles  sparkling  in  the  sun,  appears, 
as  if  by  enchantment,  an  Indian,  with 
his  red  skin  glistening  like  new  copper, 
robust  limbs,  gestures  stamped  with 
majesty  and  grace,  and  a  commanding 
eye;  a  Navajoe,  Pawnee,  Comanche, 
Apache  or  Sioux,  who,  whirling  his 
lasso  or  loJcld  round  his  head,  drives  be 
fore  him  a  herd  of  startled  buffaloes  or 
wild  horses,  or  else  a  panther,  ounce,  or 
jaguar,  that  fly  his  presence  with  hoarse 
roars  of  rage  and  terror.  x 

This  child  of  the  desert,  so  grand,  so 
noble,  and  so  disdainful  of  peril,  who 
crosses  the  prairies  with  incredible 
speed,  and  knows  its  thousand  turnings, 
is  truly  the  king  of  this  strange  country, 
which  he  alone  can  traverse  night  and 
day,  and  whose  countless  dangers  he 
does  not  fear. 

He  struggles  inch  by  inch  with  that 
European  civilization  which  is  slowly- 
advancing,  driving  him  into  his  last  in- 
trenchments  and  invading  his  lands  on 
all  sides. 

Hence,  woe  to  the  trapper  or  hunter 
who  ventures  to  traverse  these  prairies 
alone !  his  bones  will  bleach  on  the 
plain,  and  his  scalp  adorn  the  shield  of 
an  Indian  chief,  or  thejnane  of  his  horse. 

Such  is  the  sublime,  striking,  and 
terrible  spectacle  the  Far  West  offers 
even  at  the  present  day. 

The  day  on  which  we  resume  our 
story,  at  the  moment  when  the  sun  at 
tained  its  zenith,  the  mournful  silence 
brooding  over  the  desert  was  suddenly 
troubled  by  a  slight  sound,  which  was 
leard  in  the  tufted  clumps  that  border 
the  Rio  Gila,  in  one  of  the  most  un- 
snown  districts  of  this  solitude. 

The  branches  were  cautiously  parted, 
and  amid  the  leaves  and  creepers  a 
Tian  displayed  his  face  dripping  with 
perspiration,  and  marked  with  an  ex 
pression  of  terror  and  despair. 

This  man,  after  looking  around  him 
anxiously,  and  assuring  himself  that  no 
one  was  on  the  watch,  slowly  disengaged 
his  body  from  the  grass  and  shrubs  tha4; 
conceal  it,  walked  a  few  steps  in  the 
direction  of  the  river,  and  fell  to  the 
ground,  uttering  a  profound  sigh. 

Almost  simultaneously  an  enormous 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


21 


mastiff,  with  a  cross  of  the  wolf  and 
Newfoundland,  bounded  from  the  shrubs 
and  lay  down  at  his  feet. 

The  man  who  appeared  so  unexpected 
ly  on  the  banks  of  the  Rio  Gila  was 
Red  Cedar.  (See  the  Trail-hunter.) 

His  position  appeared  most  critical, 
for  he  was  alone  in  the  desert,  without 
weapons  or  provisions.  We  say  with 
out  weapons,  for  the  long  knife  passed 
through  his  deer-skin  girdle  was  almost 
useless  to  him. 

In  the  Far  West,  that  infinite  ocean 
of  verdure,  an  unarmed  man  is  a  dead 
man !  The  struggle  becomes  impossible 
for  him  with  the  numberless  enemies 
who  watch  his  passing,  and  only  await 
a  favorable  moment  to  catch  him. 

Red  Cedar  was  deprived  of  those  in 
estimable  riches  of  the  hunter,  a  rifle 
and  a  horse. 

Moreover  he  was  alone ! 

Man,  so  long  as  he  can  see  his  fellow, 
even  though  that  fellow  be  an  enemy, 
does  not  believe  himself  abandoned. 
In  his  heart  there  remains  a  vague  hope 
for  which  he  cannot  account,  but  which 
sustains  and  endows  him  with  courage. 
v  But,  so  soon  as  every  human  form  has 
disappeared,  and  man,  an  imperceptible 
grain  of  dust  in  the  desert,  finds  himself 
face  to  face  with  God,  he  trembles,  for 
the  feeling  of  his  weakness  is  then  re 
vealed  to  him  ;  he  comprehends  how 
insignificant  he  is  before  these  colossal 
works  of  nature,  and  how  insensate  is 
the  struggle  he  must  carry  on,  in  order 
to  raise  only  a  corner  of  the  winding 
sheet  of  sand  gradually  settling  down  on 
him,  and  which  assails  hiin  from  all 
sides  at  once. 

Red  Cedar  was  an  old  wood-ranger. 
Many  times,  during  his  excursions  in 
the  prairies,  he  had  found  himself  in  al 
most,  desperate  situations,  and  he  had 
always  got  out  of  them  by  his  boldness, 
patience,  and  above  all,  his  firm  will. 

Still,  he  had  never  before  been  so  de 
nuded  of  everything  as  he  was  at  this 
moment. 

Still,  he  must  make  up  his  mind  to 
something. 

He  arose,  stifling  an  oath,  and  whist 
ling  to  his  dog,  the  only  being  thfj.t  re 
mained  faithful  in  his  misfortw  ,  he 


set  out,  not  even  taking  the  trouble  to 
find  out  his  direction. 

In  fact,  what  need  had  he  to  choose 
one  ?  were  not  all  good  for  him,  and 
would  they  not  all  lead  within  a  given 
period  to  the  same  end — death  ? 

He  walked  on  thus  for  several  hours 
with  drooping  head,  seeing  the  bighorns 
and  asshatas  bounding  round,  as  if 
mocking  him. 

The  buffaloes  scarce  deigned  to  raise 
their  heads  as  he  passed,  and  looked  afc 
him  with  their  large  melancholy  eyes, 
as  if  comprehending  that  their  implaca 
ble  foe  was  disarmed,  and  they  had 
nothing  to  fear  from  him. 

The  elks,  balanced  on  the  points  of 
the  rocks,  leaped  and  sported  round 
him,  while  his  dog,  who  did  not  at  all 
comprehend  this  very  novel  affair,  look 
ed  at  its  master,  and  seemed  to  ask  him 
what  it  all  meant. 

The  day  passed  thus,  without  pro 
ducing  the  least  change  for  the  better  in 
the  squatter's  position ;  but,  on  the 
contrary,  aggravating  it.  At  nightfall 
he  fell  on  the  sand,  exhausted  by  fatigue 
and  hunger. 

The  sun  had  disappeared,  and  the 
darkness  waa  already  invading  the 
prairie. 

The  howling  of  the  wild  beasts  could 
be  heard  as  they  emerged  from  their 
lair  to  quench  their  thirst  and  go  in 
search  of  food. 

The  disarmed  squatter  could  not 
light  a  fire  to  keep  them  at  bay. 

He  looked  around  him;  a  last  in 
stinct  of  preservation,  perhaps,  or  the 
final  gleam  of  hope,  that  divine  spark 
which  is  never  extinguished  in  the  heart 
of  the  most  unfortunate  man,  urged  him 
to  seek  a  shelter. 

He  climbed  up  a  tree,  and  after  ty 
ing  himself  securely,  through  fear  of  a 
fall,  if,  as  was  very  improbable,  he  fell 
asleep,  he  closed  his  eyes  and  sought 
slumber,  in  order  to  cheat  for  a  few  mo 
ments,  at  any  rate,  that  hunger  which 
devoured  him,  and  forget  his  deplora 
ble  position. 

But  sleep  does  not  thus  visit  the  un 
fortunate,  and  obstinately  refused  to 
come,  when  most  earnestly  invoked. 

No  one,  who  has  not  experienced  it, 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


can  imagine  the  horror  of  a   sleepless 
night  in  the  desert  ? 

The  darkness  is  peopled  with  mourn 
ful  spectres,  the  wild  beasts  roar,  the 
serpents  twine  round  the  trees,  and  at 
times  clasp  in  their  cold  and  viscous 
coils  the  wretched  man  half-dead  with 
terror. 

No  one  can  say  of  how  many  centu 
ries  a  minute  is  composed  in  this  terri 
ble  situation,  or  the  length  of  this  night 
mare,  during  which  the  sickly  mind 
creates  the  most  monstrous  lucubra 
tions. 

Especially  when  the  stomach  is 
empty,  and,  through  that  very  circum 
stance,  the  brain  is  more  easily  invaded 
by  delirium. 

At  sunrise  the  squatter  breathed  a 
sigh  of  relief. 

And  yet,  of  what  consequence  to 
him  was  the  appearance  of  light,  for  it 
was  only  the  beginning  of  a  day  of  in 
tolerable  suffering  and  frightful  torture  ? 
But,  at  any  rate,  he  could  see,  he 
•could  notice,  what  went  on  around  him  ; 
the  sun  warmed  and  restored  him  some 
slight  strength. 

He  came  down  from  the  tree  in 
which  he  had  passed  the  night,  and  con 
tinued  his  journey. 

Why  did  he  go  on  ?  he  did  not  know 
himself ;  still,  he  walked  as  if  he  had  a 
.point  to  reach,  although  he  was  perfect 
ly  well  aware  he  had  no  help  to  expect 
from  any  one,  and  that,  on  the  contrary, 
the  first  face  he  perceived  would  be 
that  of  an  enemy. 

But  the  man  whose  mind  is  powerful 
ly  constituted  is  so. 

He  never  gives  up ;  he  struggles  to 
the  last  moment,  and  if  he  cannot  trust 
to  Providence,  he  hopes  in  accident, 
without  daring  to  confess  it  to  himself. 

It  would  be  impossible  for  us  to  ex- 
fplain  the  thoughts  that  crossed  the 
squatter's  brain  while,  with  uncertain 
step  he  crossed  silently  and  sadly  the 
vast  solitudes  of  the  prairie. 

Toward  midday,  the  heat  became  so 
intense,  that,  overcome  by  so  much 
moral  and  physical  suffering,  he  sank 
exhausted  at  the  foot  of  a  tree. 

He  remained  for  a  long  time  extend 
ed  on  the  ground ;  but,  at  length,  im 
pelled  ,by  want,  he  rose  with  an  effort, 


and  sought  for  roots  and  herbs  which 
might  lull  the  ^hunger  that  gnawed  his 
vitals. 

His  search  was  long  in  vain,  but  at 
last  he  found  a  species  of  yucca,  a  pasty 
root  somewhat  like  manioc,  which  ho 
devoured  with  delight. 

He  laid  in  a  stock  of  this  root,  which 
he  shared  with  his  dog,  and,  after  a 
deep  draught  from  the  stream,  he  pre 
pared  to  continue  his  journey,  slightly 
re-invigorated  by  this  more  than  frugal 
meal ;  when  all  at  once  his  eye  emitted 
a  flash,  his  face  grew  animated,  and  he 
murmured  in  a  voice  trembling  with 
emotion  : 

"  Suppose  it  was  one  !" 

This  is  what  had  caused  Red  Cedar's 
exclamation. 

At  the  moment  he  was  setting  out 
again  after  looking  mechanically  around 
him,  he  fancied  he  noticed  at  a  certain 
spot  that  the  grass  was  closer  and  taller 
than  anywhere  else. 

This  difference,  visibly  only  to  a  man 
long  accustomed  to  the  prairie,  did  not 
escape  him. 

The  Indians  and  hunters,  often  com 
pelled  to  make  a  hurried  journey, 
either  to  avoid  a  hostile  ambuscade  or 
follow  up  the  game,  are  necessitated  to 
abandon  a  large  portion  of  their  plunder 
or  merchandize  they  carry  with  them 
for  trading  purposes. 

As  they  are  not  at  all  inclined  to  lose 
it,  however,  they  make  what  is  called 
in  trapper  language  a  cache. 

It  is  effected  in  the  following  way. 

They  begin  by  spreading  blankets 
and  buffalo-skins  round  the  spot  where 
they  intend  making  the  cache:  then, 
they  remove  large  sods  of  grass,  square, 
round,  or  oval,  and  dig  out  the  soil,  be 
ing  careful  to  lay  it  on  the  blankets  or 
skins. 

When  the  hole  is  deep  enough,  the 
sides  are  lined  with  buffalo  hides,  for 
fear  of  damp,  and  the  articles  are  laid  in 
it :  the  soil  is  then  put  in  again,  and  the 
grass  laid  over  it,  which  is  watered  to 
make  it  grow,  and  the  rest  of  the  earth 
is  carried  to  the  river,  into  which  every 
particle  is  thrown,  in  order  to  hide  any 
trace  of  the  cache,  which  is  so  closely 
concealed,  that  a  man  must  have  an  ex 
traordinary  skilful  eye  to  discover  one, 


THE   PIRATES    OF   THE   PRAIRIES. 


23 


and  he  often  only  finds  old  caches  which 
have  been  ransacked  and  have  nothing 
left  in  them. 

The  objects  placed  in  the  caches  will 
keep  for  five  or  six  years  without  de 
teriorating. 

How  many  things  concealed  in  this 
way  have  been  lost  through  the  death 
of  their  owners  who  bear  with  them 
in  the  tomb  the  secret  of  the  spot 
where  they  have  deposited  their  wealth  ! 

We  have  said,  that  the  squatter  ima 
gined  he  had  found  such  a  cache. 

In  his  position,  such  a  discovery  was 
of  inestimable  value  to  him  :  it  might 
offer  him  articles  of  primary  necessity 
he  wanted,  and  restore  him,  as  it  were, 
to  life,  by  supplying  him  with  means  to 
recommence  his  existence  of  hunting, 
plunder,  and  vagabondage. 

He  stood  for  some  minutes  with  his 
eye  fixed  on  the  spot  where  he  suspect 
ed  the  cache,  his  mind  agitated  by  un- 
definable  feelings. 

At  length  he  moderated  his  emotion, 
and  his  heart  palpitating  with  fear  and 
hope,  carefully  laid  his  blanket  and  buf 
falo  robe  by  the  cache  to  hold  the  earth, 
with  that  honesty  innate  in  men  accus 
tomed  to  a  prairie  life,  who,  though 
they  may  be  bandits  and  plunder  the 
property  of  others  unscrupulously,  still 
consider  it  a  point  of  honor  not  to 
squander  it,  or  deprive  the  legal  owner 
of  anything  but  what  is  absolutely  ne 
cessary  to  themselves ;  then  he  knelt 
down  and  with  his  knife  removed  a  sod 
of  grass. 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  quiv 
er  and  anxiety  of  this  man  when  he 
first  plunged  his  knife  into  the  ground. 
He  then  carefully  removed  all  the  turf 
that  seemed  to  him  to  form  the  outline 
of  the  cache. 

This  first  task  ended,  he  rested  for  a 
moment  to  take  breath,  and  at  the  same 
time  to  indulge  in  that  emotion  so  full 
of  pleasure  and  pain  felt  on  accomplish 
ing  an  act  from  which  life  or  death  de 
pends. 

After  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  he  passed 
his  hand  over  his  dank  forehead,  and 
set  to  work  resolutely,  digging  up  the 
ground  with  his  knife,  and  removing 
it  with  his  hands  to  the  blanket. 

It  was  really  a  rude  task,  especially 


for   a  man   exhausted  by  fatigue  and 
weakened  by  privations. 

Several  times  he  was  compelled  to 
stop  through  the  exhaustion  of  his 
strength:  the  work  advanced  slowly, 
and  no  sign  as  yet  corroborated  the 
squatter's  belief. 

Several  times  he'was  on  the  point  of 
abandoning  this  vain  search,  but  it  was 
his  only  chance  of  safety  ;  there  alone, 
if  he  succeeded,  would  he  find  the 
means^to  become  once  more  a  wood- 
ranger:  hence  he  clung  to  this  last 
plank  of  safety  which  chance  offered 
him,  with  all  the  energy  of  despair,  that 
Archimedean  lever,  which  finds  nothing 
impossible. 

Still,  the  unhappy  wretch  had  been 
digging  for  a  long  time  ;  a  large  hole 
was  gaping  before  him,  but  nothing  of 
fered  him  a  prospect  of  success ;  hence, 
in  spite  of  the  invincible  energy  of  his 
character,  he  felt  despair  invading  his 
mind  once  again. 

A  tear  of  impotent  rage  brooded  in 
his  fever-inflarned  eyelids,  and  he  hurled 
his  knife  into  the  hole,  uttering  an 
oath,  and  giving  heaven  a  bitter  look  of 
defiance. 

The  knife  sprung  back  with  a  metal 
lic  sound ;  the  squatter  seized  it  and  ex 
amined  it  closely — the  point  was 
broken  clean  off. 

He  began  digging  again  frenziedly 
with  his  nails,  like  a  wild  beast,  dis 
daining  the  use  of  his  knife  any  longer, 
and  he  soon  laid  bare  a  buffalo  hide. 
Instead  of  lifting  this  skin  at  once, 
which  doubtless  covered  all  the  treas 
ures  whose  possession  he  coveted,  he 
began  gazing  at  it  with  terrible  anxiety. 

Red  Cedar  had  not  deceived  himself: 
he  had  really  discovered  a  cache. 

But  what  did  it  contain?  perhaps  it 
had  already  been  ransacked,  and  was 
empty. 

When  he  had  only  one  movement  to 
make,  in  order  to  assure  himself,  he 
hesitated — he  was  afraid ! 

During  the  three  hours  he  had  been 
toiling  to  reach  this  point,  he  had  form 
ed  so  many  chimeras,  that  he  instinctive 
ly  feared  to  see  them  vanish  suddenly, 
and  fall  back  rudely  into  the  frightful 
reality  which  held  him  in  its  iron  claws. 

For  a  long  time  he  hesitated  in  this 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE   PRAIRIES. 


way ;  at  length  suddenly  forming  a  re 
solve,  with  hands  trembling  with  emo 
tion,  palpitating  heart  and  bloodshot 
eye,  he  tore  away  the  buffalo  skin,  with 
a  movement  rapid  as  thought. 

He  felt  dazzled,  and  uttered  a  roar 
like  a  wild  beast — he  had  hit  upon  a 
thorough  hunter's  cache ! 

It  contained  iron  traps  of  every  de 
scription,  rifles,  double  and  single 
pisjols,  powder  horns,  bags  filled  with 
bullets,  knives,  and  the  thousand  objects 
suitable  for  wood-rangers. 

Red  Cedar  felt  himself  born  again : 
a  sudden  change  took  place  in  him,  he 
became  again  the  implacable  and  in 
domitable  being  he  had  been  prior  to 
the  catastrophe,  without  fear  or  re 
morse,  ready  to  recommence  the  strug 
gle  with  all  nature,  and  laughing  at  the 
perils  and  snares  he  might  meet  with 
on  the  road. 

He  selected  the  best  rifle,  two  pairs 
of  double-barrelled  pistols,  and  a  knife 
with  a  blade  fifteen  inches  in  length. 

He  also  took  the  necessary  harness 
for  a  horse;  two  powder-horns,  a  bag 
of  bullets,  and  an  elkskin  game  pouch 
richly  embroidered  in  the  Indian  fash 
ion,  containing  a  tinder-box  and  all  the 
necessaries  for  bivouacking.  He  also 
found  pipes  and  tobacco,  which  he 
eagerly  clutched,  for  his  greatest  priva 
tion  had  been  the  inability  to  smoke. 

When  he  had  loaded  himself  with  all 
he  thought  he  needed,  he  restored  ail  to 
its  primitive  condition,  and  skilfully  re 
moved  the  traces  which  might  have  re 
vealed  to  others  the  cache  which  had 
been  so  useful  to  himself. 

This  duty  of  an  honest  man  perform 
ed,  Red  Cedar  threw  his  rifle  over  his 
shoulder,  whistled  to  the  dog,  and  went 
off  hurriedly  muttering  : 

"  Ah,  ah !  you  fancied  you  had 
forced  the  boar  in  its  lair;  we  shall  see 
whether  it  can  take  its  revenge." 

By  what  concourse  of  extraordinary 
events  was  the  squatter,  whom  we  saw 
enter  the  desert  at  the  head  of  a  numer 
ous  and  resolute  troop,  reduced  to  such 
a  state  of  urgent  peril  ? 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE     AMBUSCADE. 

WE  said  at  the  close  of  the  "  Trail- 
Hunter,"  that  another  band  entered  the 
desert  at  the  heels  of  the  troop  com 
manded  by  Red  Cedar. 

This  band,  guided  by  Valentine  Guil- 
lois,  was  composed  of  Curumilla,  Gen 
eral  Ibanez,  Don  Miguel  Zarate,  and 
his  son.  These  men  were  not  seeking  a 
placer,  but  vengeance. 

On  reaching  the  Indian  territory,  the 
Frenchman  looked  inquiringly  round 
him,  and  stopping  his  horse,  turned  to 
Don  Miguel. 

"  Before  going  further,"  he  said,  "  I 
think  we  had  better  hold  a  council,  and 
settle  a  plan  of  campaign  from  which 
we  will  not  deviate." 

"  My  friend,"  the  haciendero  answer 
ed  "you  know  that  all  our  hopes  rest  on 
you :  act,  therefore,  as  you  think  ad 
visable." 

"  Good,"  Valentine  said  ;  "  this  is  the 
hour  when  the  heat  compels  all  living 
creatures  in  the  desert  to  seek  shelter 
under  the  shade  of  the  trees,  so  we  will 
halt ;  the  spot  where  we  now  are  is  ad 
mirably  suited  for  a  day's  bivouac." 

"  Be  it  so,"  the  haciendero  answered 
laconically. 

The  horsemen  dismounted,  and  re 
moved  their  horses'  bits,  so  that  the 
poor  creatures  might  obtain  a  little 
nourishment  by  nibbling  the  scanty  and 
parched  grass  which  grew  on  this  un 
grateful  soil. 

The  spot  was  really  admirably 
chosen  :  it  was  a  large  clearing  travers 
ed  by  one  of  those  many  nameless 
streams  which  intersect  the  prairie  in 
every  direction,  and  which,  after  a 
course  of  a  few  miles,  go  to  swell  the 
rivers  in  which  they  are  lost. 

A  dense  dome  of  foliage  offered  the 
travelers  an  indispensable  shelter  against 
the  burning  beams  of  a  vertical  sun. 

Although  it  was  about  midday,  the 
air  in  the  clearing,  refreshed  by  the  ex 
halations  of  the  stream,  invited  them  to 
enjoy  that  day-sleep  so  well  called  the 
siesta. 

But  the  travelers  had  something  more 
serious  to  attend  to  than  sleep. 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


25 


As  soon  as  all  the  precautions  were 
taken  against  any  possible  attack,  Val 
entine  sat  down  at  the  foot  of  a  tree, 
making  his  friends  a  sign  to  join  him. 

The  three  whites  immediately  ac 
quiesced,  while  Curumilla,  according  to 
his  wont,  went  rifle  in  hand  to  the  skirt 
of  the  clearing,  to  watch  over  the  safety 
of  all. 

After  a  few  moments'  reflection,  Val 
entine  took  the  word : 

"  Caballeros,"  he  said,  "  the  moment 
has  arrived  for  a  frank  explanation  :  we 
are  at  present  on  the  enemy's  territory ; 
the  desert  extends  for  more  than  two 
thousand  miles  around  us.  We  shall 
have  to  fight  not  only  with  the  white 
men  or  red-skins  we  meet  on  our  road, 
but  also  contend  with  hunger,  thirst, 
and  wild  beasts  of  every  description. 
Do  not  try  to  give  my  words  any  other 
meaning  than  that  I  myself  attach  to 
them.  You  have  known  me  a  long 
time,  Don  Miguel,  and  the  friendship  I 
have  vowed  to  you." 

"  I  know  it,  and  thank  you,"  Don 
Miguel  said,  gratefully. 

"In  short,"  Valentine  continued, 
"  no  obstacle,  of  whatever  nature  it 
may  be,  will  be  powerful  enough  to 
check  me  in  the  mission  1  have  under 
taken." 

"  I  am  convinced  of  it,  my  friend." 

"  Good,  but  I  am  an  old  wood-ranger ; 
desert  life,  with  its  privations  and  pe 
rils,  is  perfectly  familiar  to  me ;  the 
trail  I  am  about  to  follow  will  only  be 
child's  play  to  me  and  the  brave  Indian, 
my  companion."  • 

"  What  are  you  coming  to  ?"  Don 
Miguel  interrupted  him  anxiously. 

"  To  this,"  the  hunter  frankly  answer 
ed.  "  You  caballeros,  accustomed  to  a 
life  of  luxury  and  ease,  will  perchance 
riot  be  able  to  endure  the  rude  existence 
to  which  you  are  about  to  be  condemn 
ed  :  in  the  first  moment  of  grief  you 
bravely  rushed,  without  reflecting,  in 
pursuit  of  the  ravishers  of  your  daugh 
ter,  and  without  calculating  the  conse 
quences  of  your  deed." 

"That  is  true,"  Don  Miguel  mur 
mured. 

"  It  is,  therefore,  my  duty,"  Valen 
tine  went  on,  "  to  warn  you :  do  not 
be  afraid  to  withdraw;  but  be  frank 


with  me  as  I  am  with  you :  Curumilla 
and  myself  will  suffice  to  carry  out  the 
task  we  have  undertaken.  The  Mexi 
can  frontier  stretches  out  about  ten 
miles  behind  you ;  return  to  it,  and 
leave  to  us  the  care  of  restoring  your 
child  to  you,  if  you  do  not  feel  capable 
of  braving,  without  giving  way,  the  in 
numerable  dangers  that  menace  us.  A 
sick  man,  by  delaying  our  pursuit, 
would  not  only  render  it  impossible  for 
us  to  succeed,  but  might  expose  us  all 
to  the  risk  of  being  killed  and  scalped. 
Hence,  reflect  seriously,  my  friend,  and 
putting  away  any  question  of  self-es 
teem,  give  me  an  answer  that  allows 
me  full  liberty  of  action." 

During  this  species  of  sermon, 
whose  justice  he  recognized  in  his  heart, 
Don  Miguel  had  remained  with  his 
head  bowed  on  his  chest,  and  with 
frowning  eyebrows. 

When  Valentine  ceased,  the  hacien- 
dero  drew  himself  up  and  took  the  hun 
ter's  hand,  which  he  pressed  warmly, 
as  he  said  : 

"  My  friend,  what  you  have  said  to 
me  it  was  your  duty  to  say  :  your  re 
marks  do  not  at  all  offend  me,  because 
they  were  dictated  by  the  friendship 
you  bear  me.  The  observations  you 
have  made  to  me,  I  had  already  made 
to  myself;  but,  whatever  may  happen, 
my  resolution  is  immovable.  I  shall 
not  turn  back  till  I  have  found  my 
daughter  again." 

"  I  knew  that  such  would  be  your 
reply,  Don  Miguel,"  the  hunter  said. 
"  A  father  cannot  consent  to  abandon 
his  daughter  in  the  hands  of  bandits, 
without  attempting  all  means  to  deliver 
her ;  still,  it  was  my  duty  to  make  the 
remark  I  did.  Hence  we  will  not  speak 
about  it  again,  but  prepare  on  the  spot 
to  draw  up  our  plans  of  action." 

"  Oh,  oh,"  the  general  said,  with  a 
laugh,  "  I  am  anxious  to  hear  that." 

"  You  will  excuse  me,  general,"  Val 
entine  answered ;  "  but  the  war  we 
carry  on  is  completely  different  from 
that  of  civilized  people ;  in  the  desert 
craft  alone  can  triumph." 

"  Well,  let  us  be  crafty :  I  ask  noth 
ing  better,  especially  as,  with  the  slight 
forces  we  have  at  our  disposal,  I  do  not 
see  how  we  could  act  otherwise." 


26 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


"That  is  true,"  the  hunter  continued, 
"  There  are  only  five  of  us  ;  but,  be 
lieve  me,  five  determined  men  are 
more  dangerous  than  might  be  suppos 
ed,  and  I  soon  hope  to  prove  it  to  our 
enemies." 

"  Well  spoken,  friend,"  Don  Miguel 
said,  gladly.  "Cuerpo  de  Dios,  those 
accursed  Gringos  shall  soon  realise 
that  fact." 

"  We  have,"  Valentine  continued, 
"allies  who  will  second  us  valiantly 
\vhen  the  moment  arrives :  the  Com- 
anche  nation  proudly  calls  itself  the 
*  Queen  of  the  Prairies,'  and  its  war 
riors  are  terrible  enemies.  Unicorn 
will  not  fail  us,  with  his  tribe  ;  and  we 
have  also  a  friend  in  the  enemy's  camp 
in  the  Chief  of  the  Coras." 

"  What  are  you  saying  ?"  the  Gene 
ral  gaily  remarked.  "  Why,  our  suc 
cess  is  insured." 

Valentine  shook  his  head. 

"  No,"  he  said  ;  «  Red  Cedar  has 
allies  too :  the  Pirates  of  the  Prairies 
and  the  Apaches  will  join  him,  I  feel 
convinced." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  Don  Miguel  observed. 
?  "  Doubt  is  not  admissible  under  the 
circumstances  ;  the  scalp-hunter  is  too 
well  used  to  a  desert  life  not  to  try  and 
get  all  the  chances  of  success  on  his 
side." 

"  But,  if  that  happen,  it  will  be  a 
general  war,"  the  haciendero  said. 

"Doubtless,"  Valentine  continued; 
"  that  is  what  I  wish  to  arrive  at.  Two 
days'  march  from  where  we  now  are 
there  is  a  Navajoe  village ;  I  have 
done  some  slight  services  to  Yellow 
Wolf,  the  principal  chief;  we  must 
proceed  to  him  before  Red  Cedar  at 
tempts  to  see  him,  and  insure  his  alli 
ance  at  all  risks.  The  Navajoes  are 
prudent  and  courageous  warriors." 

"  Do  you  not  fear  the  consequences 
of  this  delay  ?" 

"  Once  for  all,  caballeros,"  Valen 
tine  answered,  "  remember  that  in  the 
country  where  we  now  are  the  straight 
line  is  ever  the  longest." 

The  three  men  bowed  resignedly. 

"Yellow  Wolf's  alliance  is  indis 
pensable  to  us :  with  his  support  it 
will  be  easy  for  us 


The  sudden  appearance  of  Curumil- 
la  interrupted  the  hunter. 

"What  is  the  matter  now?"  he 
asked  him. 

"  Listen  !"  the  chief  answered  lacon 
ically. 

The  four  men  anxiously  stopped  talk 
ing. 

"  By  Heavens  !"  Valentine  said,  as  he 
hurriedly  arose,  "  what  is  the  matter 
here  1" 

And,  followed  by  his  comrades,  he 
stepped  into  the  thicket. 

The  Mexicans',  whose  senses  were 
dulled,  had  heard  nothing  at  the  first 
moment;  but  the  noise  which  had  struck 
the  hunter's  practised  ear  now  reached 
them. 

It  was  the  furious  galloping  of  seve 
ral  horses,  whose  hoofs  re-echoed  on  the 
ground  with  a  noise  resembling  that  of 
thunder. 

Suddenly,  ferocious  yells  were  heard, 
mingled  with  shots. 

The  five  travellers,  hidden  behind 
trees,  peered  out,  and  soon  noticed  a 
man  mounted  on  a  horse  lathered  with 
foam,  who  was  pursued  by  some  thirty 
mounted  Indians. 

"  To  horse  !"  Valentine  commanded 
in  a  low  voice.  "  We  cannot  let  this 
man  be  assassinated." 

"  Hem  !"  the  general  muttered,  "  we 
are  playing  a  dangerous  game,  for  they 
are  numerous." 

"  Do  you  not  see  that  the  man  is  of 
our  own  color  T'  Valentine  went  on. 

"That  is  true,"  said  Don  Miguel. 
"  Whatever  happens,  we  must  not  allow 
him  to  be  massacred  in  cold  blood  by 
those  ferocious  Indians." 

In  the  meanwhile,  the  pursuers  and 
pursued  had  come  nearer  the  spot 
where  the  hunters  were  ambushed  be 
hind  the  trees. 

The  man  the  Indians  were  so  obsti 
nately  following  drew  himself  up  haugh 
tily  in  his  saddle,  and,  while  galloping 
at  full  speed,  turned  from  time  to  time 
to  fire  his  rifle  into  the  thick  of  his  ene 
mies. 

At  each  discharge  a  warrior  fell ;  his 
comrades  then  uttered  fearful  yells,  and 
answered  by  a  shower  of  arrows  and 
bullets. 


THE   PIKATES    OF   THE   PRAIRIES. 


But  the  stranger  shook  his  head  dis 
dainfully,  and  continued  his  career. 

"  Caspita  /"  the  general  said  with  ad 
miration  ;  "  that  is  a  brave  fellow." 

"  On  my  soul,"  Don  Pablo  exclaim 
ed,  "it  would  be  a  pity  to  see  him 
killed." 

"  We  must  save  him,"  Don  Miguel 
could  not  refrain  from  saying. 

Valentine  smiled  gently. 

"I  will  try  it,"  he  said.  "To 
horse !" 

Each  leaped  into  the  saddle. 

"  Now,"  Valentine  continued,  "  re 
main  invisible  behind  the  shrubs. 
These  Indians  are  Apaches  ;  when  they 
come  within  range,  you  will  all  fire 
without  showing  yourselves." 

Each  set  his  rifle,  and  held  in  readi 
ness. 

There  was  a  moment  of  supreme  ex 
pectation,  and  the  hunters'  hearts  beat 
violently. 

The  Indians  still  approached,  bowed 
over  the  necks  of  their  panting  steeds, 
brandishing  their  weapons  furiously, 
and  uttering  at  intervals  their  formida 
ble  warcry. 

1  They  came  up  at  headlong  speed, 
preceded  about  one  hundred  yards  by 
the  man  they  were  pursuing,  whom 
they  must  soon  catch  up,  for  his  wea 
ried  horse  stumbled  continually,  and 
was  sensibly  diminishing  its  speed. 

At  length  the  stranger  passed  with 
lightning  speed  the  thicket  which  con 
cealed  those  who  were  about  to^ry  a 
diversion  in  his  favor,  that  might  ruin 
them. 

"  Attention,"  Valentine  commanded 
in  a  low  voice. 

The  rifles  were  lowered  on  the  Apa 
ches. 

"  Aim  carefully,"  the  Trail-hunter  ad 
ded.  "Every  bullet  must  kill  its 
man." 

A  minute  elapsed — a  minute  an  age 
in  length. 

"  Fire !"  the  hunter  suddenly  shout 
ed  ;  "  fire  now." 

Five  shots  were  discharged,  and  the 
same  number  of  Apaches  fell. 


CHAPTER  III. 

AN  OLD   ACQUAINTANCE    OP    THE   READER. 

ON  this  unforeseen  attack  the  Apa 
ches  uttered  a  yell  of  terror ;  but,  be 
fore  they  could  pull  up  their  horses,  a 
second  discharge  made  four  fresh  vic 
tims  in  their  ranks. 

A  mad  terror  then  seized  on  the  In 
dians,  and  they  turned  and  fled  in  every 
direction;  ten  minutes  later  they  had 
disappeared. 

The  hunters  did  not  dream  for  a  mo 
ment  of  pursuing  them  ;  but  Curumilla 
had  dismounted,  and  crawling  out  to 
the  scene  of  action,  conscientiously  fin 
ished  and  scalped  the  Apaches  who  had 
fallen  under  his  comrades'  bullets. 

At  ^ie  same  time  he  lassoed  a  rider 
less  horse  which  passed  a  few  paces 
from  him,  and  then  rejoined  his  friends. 

"To  what  tribe  do  those  dogs  be 
long  ?"  Valentine  asked  him. 

"  The  Buffalo,"  Curumilla  made  an 
swer. 

"  Oh,  oh,"  the  hunter  went  on  ;  "  we 
were  in  luck's  way  then.  Stanapat,  I 
believe,  is  the  chief  of  the  Buffalo 
tribe." 

Curumilla  nodded  an  assent ;  and  af 
ter  hobbling  the  horse  he  had  lassoed 
by  the  side  of  the  others,  quietly  seat 
ed  himself  on  the  river  bank. 

The  stranger  had  been  quite  as  much 
surprised  as  the  Apaches  by  the  unfore 
seen  help  that  had  so  providentially  ar 
rived  at  the  moment  when  he  believed 
himself  hopelessly  lost.  At  the  sound 
of  the  firing  he  checked  his  horse,  and, 
after  a  moment's  hesitation,  slowly 
turned  back. 

Valentine  watched  all  his  movements. 

The  stranger,  on  reaching  the  thicket, 
dismounted,  pulled  back  with  a  firm 
hand  the  brambles  that  barred  his  way, 
and  boldly  proceeded  to  the  clearing 
where  the  hunters  were  ambushed. 

This  man,  whom  the  reader  already 
knows,  was  no  other  than  the  person 
Red  Cedar  called  Don  Melchior,  and  of 
whom  he  seemed  so  terribly  afraid. 

When  he  found  himself  in  the  pres 
ence  of  the  Mexicans,  Don  Melchior 
took  off  his  hat  and  bowed  courteously ; 
the  others  politely  returned  his  salute. 


THE   PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


"  Viva  Dios  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I 
do  not  know  who  you  are,  caballeros  ; 
but  I  thank  you  sincerely  for  your  in 
terference  just  now.  I  owe  my  life  to 
you." 

"In  the  Far  West,"  Valentine  an 
swered  nobly,  "  an  invisible  bond  con 
nects  all  the  individuals  of  one  color, 
who  only  form  a  single  family." 

"  Yes,"  the  stranger  said,  with  a 
thoughtful  accent,  "  it  should  be  so ; 
but  unfortunately,"  he  added,  shaking 
his  head  in  denial,  "  the  worthy  princi 
ples  you  enunciate,  caballero,  are  but 
very  slightly  put  in  practice :  but  I 
ought  not  at  this  moment  to  complain 
of  them  being  neglected,  as  it  is  to 
your  generous  intervention  that  I  owe 
rny  being  among  the  living." 

The  listeners  bowed,  and  the  stranger 
went  on  : 

"  Be  kind  enough  to  tell  me  who  you 
are,  gentlemen,  that  I  may  retain  in 
my  heart  names  which  will  ever  be 
dear  to  me." 

Valentine  fixed  on  the  man  who  thus 
spoke  a  piercing  glance,  that  seemed  to 
be  trying  to  read  his  most  secret 
thoughts. 

The  stranger  smiled  sadly. 

"Pardon,"  he  then  said,  "any  appa 
rent  bitterness  in  my  words :  I  have 
suffered  much,  and,  in  spite  of  myself, 
gloomy  thoughts  often  rise  from  my 
heart  to  my  lips." 

"  Man  is  sent  on  the  earth  to  suffer," 
Valentine  gravely  replied.  "  Each  of 
us  has  his  cross  to  bear  here :  Don  Mi 
guel  de  Zarate,  his  son  and  General  Iba- 
nez  are  a  proof  of  my  assertion." 

At  the  name  of  Don  Miguel,  a  vivid 
blush  purpled  the  stranger's  cheeks,  and 
his  eye  flashed,  despite  all  his  efforts  to 
remain  unmoved. 

"  I  have  often  heard  of  Don  Miguel 
de  Zarate,"  he  said,  with  a  bow.  "  I 
have  been  informed  of  the  dangers  he 
has  incurred — dangers  from  which  he 
only  escaped  by  the  aid  of  a  man — an 
honest  hunter." 

"That  hunter  is  before  you,"  Don 
Miguel  said.  "  Alas !  we  have  other 
and  greater  dangers  still  to  incur." 

The  stranger  looked  at  him  attentive 
ly  for  an  instant — then  stepped  for 
ward,  and  crossed  his  arms  on  his  chest. 


"  Listen  !"  he  said,  in  a  deep  voice. 
"It  was  truly  Heaven  that  inspired 
you  to  come  to  my  help — for  from  this 
moment  I  devote  myself,  body  and 
soul,  to  your  service ;  and  I  belong  to 
you  as  the  haft  does  to  the  blade.  I 
know  the  reason  that  compelled  you  to 
break  up  all  old  habits  to  visit  the 
frightful  solitudes  of  the  Far  West." 

"  You  know  it  V  the  hunter  exclaim 
ed,  in  surprise. 

"Everything,"  the  stranger  firmly 
answered.  "I  know  the  treachery 
which  cast  you  into  the  power  of  your 
enemies.  I  know,  too,  that  your  daugh 
ter  has  been  carried  off  by  Red  Cedar." 

"  Who  are  you,  then,  to  be  so  well 
informed  ?"  Valentine  asked. 

A  sad  smile  played  for  a  second 
round  the  stranger's  lips. 

"  Who  am  I  V  he  said  iu  a  melan 
choly  voice.  "What  matters,  since  I 
wish  to  serve  you  ?" 

"Still,  as  we  answered  your  ques 
tions,  we  have  a  right  to  expect  the 
same  from  you." 

"That  is  just,"  the  stranger  said,  "  and 
you  shall  be  satisfied.  I  am  the  man 
with  the  hundred  names  :  in  Mexico  I 
am  called  Don  Luis  Arroyal,  partner  ^ 
in  the  firm  of  Simpson,  Carvalho,  and 
Company — in  the  northern  provinces  of 
Mexico,  where  I  have  long  rendered 
myself  popular  by  foolish  squandering, 
El  Gambusino — on  the  coasts  of  the 
United  States,  and  in  the  Gulf  of  Mexi 
co,  wjj^re  I  sometimes  command  a  cut 
ter,  and  chase  the  slavers,  I  am  called 
the  Unknown — among  the  North 
Americans,  the  Son  of  Blood — but  my 
real  name,  and  the  one  men  give  me 
who  know  the  little  about  me  I  think 
proper  to  tell  them — it  is  la  Venganza 
(Vengeance).  Are  you  satisfied  now, 
gentlemen  V 

No  one  replied. 

The  hunters  had  all  heard  of  this  ex 
traordinary  man,  about  whom  the 
strangest  rumors  were  rife  in  Mexico, 
the  United  States,  and^even  on  the 
prairie. 

By  the  side  of  heroic  deeds,  and  acts 
of  kindness  deserving  all  praise,  he  was 
branded  with  crimes  of  unheard-of 
cruelty  and  unexampled  ferocity. 

He  inspired  a  mysterious  terror  in 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


29 


the  whites  and  reclskins,  who  equally 
feared  to  come  in  contact  with  him, 
though  no  proof  had  ever  yet  been 
brought  forward  of  the  contradictory 
stories  told  about  him. 

Valentine  and  his  comrades  had  fre 
quently  heard  talk  of  Bloodson ;  but 
this  was  the  first  time  they  had  found 
themselves  face  to  face  with  him  ;  and, 
in  spite  of  themselves,  they  were  sur 
prised  to  see  so  noble  and  handsome  a 
man. 

Valentine  was  the  first  to  regain  his 
.coolness. 

"  For  a  long  time,"  he  said,  "  your 
name  has  been  familiar  to  me.  I  was 
anxious  to  know  you.  The  opportunity 
offers,  and  1  am  pleased  with  it,  as  I  shall 
be  at  length  able  to  judge  you,  which 
was  hitherto  impossible,  through  the 
exaggerated  stories  told  about  you. 
You  say  that  you  can  be  useful  to  us 
in  the  enterprise  we  arc  meditating, 
and  we  accept  your  offer  as  frankly  as 
you  make  it.  On  an  expedition  like 
this,  the  help  of  a  brave  man  must  not 
be  despised — the  more  so,  as  the  man 
we  wish  to  force  in  his  lair  is  danger 
ous." 

"  More  than  you  imagine,"  the 
stranger  interrupted  him  in  a  gloomy 
voice.  "  I  have  been  struggling  with 
Red  Cedar  for  twenty  years,  and  have 
not  yet  managed  to  crush  him.  Ah  ! 
he  is  a  rough  adversary  !  I  know  it, 
for  I  am  his  most  implacable  enemy, 
and  have  in  vain  tried  all  the  means  at 
my  command  to  take  an  exemplary 
vengeance  on  him." 

While  uttering  these  words,  the 
stranger's  face  had  assumed  a  livid  tint ; 
his  features  were  contracted,  and  he 
seemed  to  be  suffering  Irom  an  extraor 
dinary  emotion. 

Valentine  looked  at  him  for  an  in- 
stant  with  a  mingled  feeling  of  pity  and 
^  sympathy. 

The  hunter,  who  had  suffered  so 
much,  knew,  like  all  wounded  souls, 
how  to  feel  for  the  grief  of  men  who, 
like  himself,  bore  their  adversity  worth- 

"  We  will  help  you,"  he  said,  as  he 
cordially  offered  him  his  hand,  "  In 
stead  of  fivej  we  shall  be  six,  to  fi^ht 
him." 


2 


The  stranger's  eye  flashed  forth  a 
strange  gleam.  He  squeezed  the  offer 
ed  hand,  and  answered  in  a  dull  voice, 
but  with  an  expression  impossible  to 
render : 

"  We  shall  be  fifty  ;  for  I  have  com 
rades  in  the  desert." 

Valentine  bent  a  joyous  glance  on 
his  companions  at  this  news,  which  an 
nounced  to  him  a  valuable  support,  that 
he  was  far  from  anticipating. 

"  But  fifty  men  are  not  sufficient  to 
contend  against  this  demon,  who  is  as 
sociated  with  the  Pirates  of  the  Prai 
ries,  and  allied  with  the  most  dangerous 
Indians." 

"Do  not  trouble  yourself  about  that," 
Valentine  observed.  "  We  will  also 
ally  ourselves  with  Indian  tribes.  But 
I  swear  to  you  that  I  shall  not  quit  the 
prairie  till  1  have  seen  the  last  drop  of 
that  villain's  blood  run  out." 

"May  heaven  hear  you  !"  the  stran 
ger  muttered.  "  If  my  horse  were  not 
so  tired,  I  would  ask  you  to  follow  me  ; 
for  we  have  not  a  moment  to  lose  if 
we  wish  to  force  the  wild  beast.  Un 
fortunately,  we  are  compelled  to  wait 
some  hours." 

Cururnilla  stepped  forward. 

"  Here  is  a  horse  for  my  pale  broth 
er,"  he  said,  as  he  pointed  to  the  ani 
mal  he  had  lassoed  a  few  minutes  pre 
viously. 

The  stranger  uttered  a  cry  of  joy. 

"  To  horse  !"  he  loudly  exclaimed,  "to 
horse !" 

"  Where  are  you  taking  us  ¥'  Valen 
tine  asked. 

"  To  join  my  comrades  in  the  hiding 
place  I  have  selected  for  them.  Then 
we  will  arrange  the  means  we  must  em 
ploy  to  destroy  our  common  enemy." 

"  Good,"  Valentine  remarked,  "  that 
is  excellent  reasoning.  Are  we  far 
from  the  place  1" 

"  No,  twenty  to  twenty-five  miles  at 
the  most ;  we  shall  be  there  by  sun 
set." 

"  We  will  start  then,"  Valentine  ad 
ded. 

The  gentlemen  leaped  into  their  sad 
dles,  and  started  at  a  gallop  in  the  di 
rection  of  the  mountains. 

A  few  minutes  later,  the  spot  had  re 
turned  to  its  usual  calmness  and  silence. 


30 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


Nothing  was  left  to  prove  that  man  had 
passed  that  way,  save  a  few  mutilated 
corpses  over  which  the  vultures  were  al 
ready  beginning  to  circle  with  hoarse 
croaking  before  they  settled  upon  them. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

RED     CEDAR     AT     BAY. 

THE  six  men  rode  one  after  the  other, 
following  one  of  those  inextricable 
tracks  made  by  the  wild  beasts,  which 
cross  the  desert  in  every  direction. 

Bloodson  served  as  guide  to  the  little 
party,  followed  immediately  by  Curu 
milla, 

The  Indian  chief,  with  the  genius  pe 
culiar  to  his  race,  advanced  silently  as 
usual,  but  casting  right  and  left  peering 
glances,  which  nothing  escaped,  and 
which  render  the  redskins  peculiar 
beings. 

All  at  once  Curumilla  dismounted, 
and  bent  over  the  ground,  uttering  an 
exclamation  of  surprise.  This  was  so 
extraordinary  a  fact,  and  so  contrary  to 
the  habits  of  the  Ulmen  of  the  Arauca- 
nos,  that  Valentine  hurried  up  to  en 
quire  what  had  happened. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you,  chief?" 
he  asked,  as  soon  as  he  came  up  with 
him. 

"  My  brother  can  look,"  Curumilla 
said  simply. 

Valentine  dismounted  and  stooped  to 
the  ground. 

The  Indian  showed  him  a  half-effaced 
footstep,  which  still  bore,  however,  the 
shape  of  a  horse-shoe. 

The  hunter  looked  at  it  for  some 
time  with  the  utmost  attention,  then 
began  walking  cautiously  in  the  direc 
tion  the  hoof- marks  seemed  to  go.  Oth 
ers  soon  presented  themselves  to  him. 
His  comrades  had  stopped,  and  silently 
awaited  his  explanation. 

"  Well !"  Don  Miguel  at  length  said. 

"There  is  no  doubt  possible,"  Valen 
tine  answered,  as  if  speaking  to  himself, 
"  Red  Cedar  has  passed  along  here." 

"  What,"  the  general  observed,  "  do 
you  believe  it  ?" 

"  I  am  sure  of  it.    The  chief  has  just 


shown  me  the  perfectly-formed  mark  of 
his  horse's  hoof." 

"  Oh  !  oh !"  Don  Miguel  objected, 
"  a  horse-shoe  is  a  very  slight  sign ;  all 
are  alike." 

"  Yes.  as  one  tree  resembles  the  oth 
er,"  Valentine  answered  quickly.  "  Lis 
ten  :  the  chief  has  observed  that  the 
squatter,  I  know  not  by  what  accident, 
is  mounted  on  a  horse  shod  on  all  four 
feet,  while  the  men  composing  his  band 
have  theirs  only  shod  on  the  front  feet ; 
in  addition,this  horse  in  stepping  throws 
back  its  feet,  which  causes  the  mark  to 
be  indistinct." 

"  In  truth,"  Bloodson  remarked,  "the 
observation  is  correct,  and  only  an  In 
dian  could  make  it  ;  but  Red  Cedar  is 
at  the  head  of  a  numerous  party,  which 
cannot  have  passed  along  this  way,  or 
we  should  notice  the  trail." 

"  That  is  true,"  the  general  said  ; 
"  what  do  you  conclude  from  that  ?" 

"  A  very  simple  thing  ;  it  is  probable 
that  Red  Cedar  has,  for  reasons  un 
known  to  us,  left  his  men  encamped 
some  miles  from  here,  and  has  ridden 
this  way  alone." 

"  I  have  it,"  Bloodson  said  ;  "  not 
far  from  the  spot  where  we  now  are, 
there  is  a  nest  of  pirates,  and  Red  Ced 
ar  has  probably  gone  to  ask  their  assis 
tance  in  case  of  need." 

"  That's  it,"  Valentine  added  ;  "  the 
track  is  quite  fresh,  so  our  man  cannot 
be  far  from  us." 

"  We  must  pursue  him,"  Don  Pablo 
quickly  said,  who  had,  till  this  moment, 
maintained  a  gloomy  silence. 

"  What  do  you  say,  gentlemen]" 
Valentine  asked,  turning  to  the  rest. 

"  Pursue  him,"  they  answered  unan 
imously. 

Then,  without  further  deliberation, 
they  began  following  the  trail,  under 
the  guidance  of  Valentine  and  Curumil 
la. 

What  the  hunter  stated  had  really 
happened. 

Red  Cedar,  when  he  entered  the  des 
ert,  after  installing  his  band  in  a  strong 
position,  remounted  his  horse  and  set 
out,  warning  all  his  comrades  that  he 
should  return  within  four  days  at  the 
most,  and  leaving  them  temporarily  un 
der  the  orders  of  the  monk. 


THE    PIRATES    OP   THE   PRAIRIES. 


31 


Red  Cedar  did  not  fancy  himself  so 
closely  pursued  by  Valentine,  and  hence 
had  taken  but  slight  precautions  to  con 
ceal  his  track. 

As  he  proceeded  alone,  in  spite  of 
the  trail  found  by  Curumilla,  he  would 
doubtless  have  escaped  pursuit,  had  not 
a  dog  followed  him  from  camp  without 
his  knowledge.  The  track  left  by  that 
animal  served  as  a  guide  to  the  pursu 
ers  at  the  moment  when  they  had  com 
pletely  lost  his  trail. 

Valentine  and  Curumilla  had  dis 
mounted,  and  were  advancing  slowly 
and  examining  the  sand  and  soil  over 
which  they  passed. 

"  Take  care,"  the  Trail-hunter  said  to 
his  comrades,  who  followed  him  step 
by  step  ;  "  do  not  come  djt  so  quickly  ; 
when  picking  up  a  trail  you  must  mind 
where  you  put  your  foot  down,  and  not 
look  on  both  sides.  Stay,"  he  added, 
suddenly  stooping  and  stopping  Don 
Pablo  ;  "  here  are  traces  you  were  just 
about  to  efface.  Let  us  have  a  look  at 
this :  they  are  the  marks  of  the  horse 
shoe  we  have  lost  for  some  time.  Red 
Cedar's  horse  has  a  peculiar  way  of 
putting  down  its  feet,  which  I  guarantee 
to  recognise  at  the  first  glance.  Hum, 
hum,"  he  continued,  "now  I  know  where 
to  find  him." 

"  You  are  sure  of  it  V1  Don  Miguel 
interrupted. 

"  It  is  not  difficult,  as  you  shall  see." 

"  Forward,  forward  !"  Don  Pablo  and 
the  general  shouted. 

"  Caballeros,"  the  hunter  observed; 
"  be  good  enough  to  remember  that  on 
the  prairies  you  must  never  raise  your 
voice.  The  branches  have  eyes  and  the 
leaves  ears  here.  Now,  to  remount  and 
cross  the  river." 

The  six  men,  combined  in  a  compact 
body,  in  order  to  afford  a  greater  re 
sistance  to  the  current,  which  was  very 
powerful  at  this  spot,  forced  their  horses 
into  the  Gila. 

The  passage  was  executed  without  any 
obstacle,  and  the  horses  soon  landed  on 
the  other  bank. 

"  Now,"  Valentine  said,  "  open  your 
eyes,  for  the  hunt  begins  here." 

Don  Pablo  and  the  general  remained 
on  the  bank  to  guard  the  horses,  and  the 


remainder  of  the  party  set  out,  forming 
a  line  of  tirailleurs  sixty  feet  long. 

Valentine  had  recommended  his  com 
panions  to  concentrate  their  researches 
on  a  space  of  one  hundred  and  fifty 
yards  at  most,  in  a  semicircle,  so  as  to 
reach  an  almost  impenetrable  thicket, 
situated  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  by  the 
river-side. 

Each  man  advanced  cautiously,  with 
his  gun  thrust  forward,  looking  on  all 
sides  at  once,  and  not  leaving  a  bush,  a 
pebble,  or  a  blade  of  grass  unexamined. 
Suddenly  Curumilla  imitated  the  cry  of 
the  jay,  the  signal  for  assembling  in  the 
event  of  any  important  discovery. 

All  rushed  toward  the  spot  whence 
the  signal  came;  in  the  midst  of  the 
lofty  grass,  the  ground  was  trampled 
and  the  lower  branches  broken. 

"Red  Cedar's  horse  was  tied  up 
here,"  Valentine  said.  "  Attention !  we 
are  about  to  catch  the  bear  in  his  den. 
You  know  with  what  sort  of  men  we 
have  to  deal ;  be  prudent :  if  not,  there 
will  soon  be  broken  bones  and  punctured 
skins  among  us." 

Without  adding  a  word  further,  the 
hunter  again  took  the  head  of  the  file. 
He  carefully  parted  the  bushes,  and  un 
hesitatingly  entered  the  thicket. 

At  this  moment  the  furious  barking 
of  a  dog  could  be  heard. 

"  Hilloh !"  a  rough  voice  shouted  : 
"what's  the  matter,  Black?  Did  not 
the  redskins  have  a  sufficient  lesson  last 
night,  that  they  want  to  try  it  again  ?" 

These  words  were  followed  by  the 
grating  sound  of  a  rifle  being  cocked. 
Valentine  made  his  comrades  a  sign  to 
stop,  and  boldly  advanced. 

"  They  are  not  Indians,"  he  said,  in  a 
loud  and  firm  voice :  "  it  is  I,  Koutonepi, 
an  old  acquaintance,  who  wishes  to  have 
a  chat  with  you." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say  to  you,"  Red 
Cedar,  still  invisible,  answered.  "I 
know  not  why  you  have  followed  me  to 
this  place :  we  never  were  such  good 
friends,  I  fancy,  that  you  should  desire 
the  pleasure  of  my  company." 

"  That's  true,"  the  hunter  remarked : 
"  you  may  be  fully  assured  that  we  were 
always  very  bad  friends :  but  no  mat 
ter  ;  call  off  your  dog." 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


"  If  your  intentions  are  good,  and  you 
are  alone,  you  can  advance,  and  will  be 
received  as  a  friend." 

And  he  whistled  to  his  dog,  which  re 
joined  him. 

"  As  regards  my  intentions,  I  can  as 
sure  you  that  they  are  good,"  the  Trail- 
hunter  replied,  as  he  drew  back  the 
.  branches. 

He  suddenly  found  himself  in  front 
of  Bed  Cedar,  who  was  standing,  rifle 
in  hand,  in  the  narrow  entrance  of  a 
grotto. 

The  two  men  were  scarce  fifteen 
yards  apart,  examining  each  other  sus 
piciously. 

This  is,  however,  the  custom  of  the 
prairies,  where  all  meetings  are  the 
same:  distrust  always  holds  the  first 
place. 

"  Stop,"  the  squatter  shouted.  "  For 
what  we  have  to  say  to  each  other,  we 
need  not  be  ear  to  ear.  What  do  we 
care  if  the  birds  and  serpents  hear  our 
conversation  ?  Come,  speak !  what 
have  you  come  here  for?  Empty 
your  wallet,  and  make  haste  about  it ; 
for  I  have  no  time  to  listen  to  your 
stories." 

"  Hum !"  the  other  answered  ;  "  my 
stories  are  as  good  as  yours,  and  per 
haps  you  would  have  done  better  by 
spending  your  time  in  listening  to  them, 
rather  than  acting  as  you  have  done." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  Red  Cedar 
said,  as  he  struck  the  ground  with  the 
butt  of  his  rifle  :  "  You  know  I  am  not 
fond  of  sermons.  I  am  a  free  hunter, 
and  act  as  I  think  proper." 

"  Come,  come,"  the  huntsman  went 
on  in  a  conciliatory  tone,  while  quietly 
drawing  nearer ;  "  do  not  take  up  that 
tone  :  all  may  be  arranged.  Hang  it, 
what  is  the  question,  if  we  come  to 
that1?  only  about  a  woman  you  have 
,  carried  off !" 

The  bandit  listened  to  Valentine 
without  attaching  much  importance 
to  his  remarks.  For  some  instants  his 
attentive  ear  appeared  to  be  catching 
vague  sounds;  his  eye  sounded  the 
depth  of  the  woods  ;  his  nostrils  dilat 
ed  ;  and  all  the  instincts  of  the  wild 
beast  were  revealed.  A  presentiment 
told  him  that  he  was  incurring  some  un 
known  danger. 


On  his  side,  the  hunter  watched  the 
slightest  movements  of  his  adver 
sary  :  not  one  of  the  changes  on  his 
face  had  escaped  him,  and  though  ap 
parently  unmoved,  he  kept  on  his 
guard. 

"Traitor!"  the  squatter  suddenly 
shouted,  as  he  raised  his  rifle  to  his 
shoulder  ;  "  you  shall  die  !" 

"  What  a  fellow  you  are !"  Valentine 
retorted,  as  he  dodged  behind  a  tree. 
"  Not  yet,  if  you  please." 

"Surrender,  Red  Cedar!"  Don  Mi 
guel  shouted,  as  he  appeared,  followed 
by  the  stranger  and  Curumilla :  "  sur 
render  !" 

"  What  do  you  say  ?  I  surrender  ! 
First  try  and  force  me  to  do  so.  I 
swear  thatf|  will  kill  you  first,"  the 
bandit  answered  with  a  terrible  accent : 
"  I  hold  your  life  in  my  hands.  Are 
you  aware  of  that  ?" 

"  Come,"  Valentine  retorted,  "  don't 
be  so  rough  ?  there  are  four  of  us,  and 
I  suppose  you  do  not  intend  to  kill  us 
all." 

"  For  the  last  time,  will  you  retire  V 
the  bandit  said,  with  a  furious  gesture. 

"  Come,  come,"  Bloodson  shuuted  in 
a  loud  voice,  "  do  not  attempt  any  use 
less  resistance.  Red  Cedar,  your  hour 
has  arrived." 

At  the  sound  of  this  voice,  the  ban 
dit's  face  was  suddenly  covered  by  a 
livid  pallor,  and  a  convulsive  tremor 
passed  over  his  limbs. 

"  Look  out,  he  is  going  to  fire !"  Val 
entine  shouted. 

Two  shots  were  fired  so  closely  to 
gether,  that  they  sounded  as  one. 

The  squatter's  gun,  shattered  in  his 
hands,  fell  to  the  ground. 

Valentine,  who  wished  to  capture  the 
bandit  alive,  could  only  hit  on  this  way 
of  turning  his  bullet,  which,  in  fact, 
whistled  harmlessly  past  his  ear. 

"  Con  mil  d&nionios  /"  the  scalp-hunter 
yelled,  as  he  rushed  madly  into  the 
grotto,  closely  followed  by  his  enemies, 
with  the  exception  of  Curumilla. 

There  they  found  him  armed  with 
his  pistols,  like  a  boar  tracked  to  its 
lair. 

The  bandit  struggled  with  all  the 
frenzy  of  despair,  not  yet  giving  up 
the  hope  of  escape. 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


His  dog,  standing  by  his  side,  with 
bloodshot  eye's  and  open  jaws,  only 
awaited  a  signal  from  its  master  to  rush 
on  the  assailants. 

The  squatter  suddenly  fired  four 
shots,  but  too  hurriedly  to  wound  any 
body.  He  then  hurled  the  useless  wea 
pons  at  his  foemeVs  heads,  and,  bound 
ing  like  a  panther,  disappeared  at  the 
end  of  the  grotto,  shouting  with  a  sin 
ister  grin : 

"  I  am  not  caught  yet !" 

During  all  the  incidents  of  this  scene, 
the  bandit  had  preserved  his  coolness  ; 
calculating  the  chances  of  safety  left 
him,  so  that  he  might  profit  by  them 
immediately.  While  occupying  his 
enemies,  he  remembered  that  the  grotto 
had  a  second  outlet. 

Suddenly  he  stopped,  uttering  a 
ghastly  oath  :  he  had  forgotten  that  the 
swollen  Gila  at  the  moment  inundated 
this  issue.  The  villain  walked  several 
times  round  the  grotto  with  the  impo 
tent  rage  of  a  wild  beast  that  has  fallen 
into  a  trap.  He  heard,  in  the  windings 
of  the  cavern,  the  footsteps  of  his  pur 
suers  drawing  closer. 

The  sands  were  counted  for  him. 

One  minute  later,  and  he  was  lost. 

"Malediction!"  he  said,  "all  fails 
me  at  once." 

He  must  escape  at  all  risks,  and  try 
to  reach  his  horse,  which  was  fastened 
up  a  short  distance  off  on  a  small  islet 
of  sand,  which  the  water,  continually 
rising,  threatened  soon  to  cover. 

The  bandit  took  a  parting  look  round, 
bounded  forward,  and  plunged  into  the 
abyss  of  waters,  which  hoarsely  closed 
over  hirn. 

Valentine  and  his  comrades  almost 
immediately  appeared,  bearing  torches  ; 
but  the  bandit  had  wholly  disappeared. 

All  was  silent  in  the  grotto. 

"  The  villain  has  committed  suicide," 
the  haciendero  said. 

The  hunter  shook  his  head. 

"  I  doubt  it,"  he  said. 

"  Listen  !"  the  stranger  hurriedly  in 
terrupted. 

A  shot  echoed  through  the  cave,  and 
the  three  men  rushed  forward. 

This  is  what  had  happened  : 

Instead  of  following  his  comrades, 
the  Indian  chief,  certain  that  the  bandit 


had  not  been  such  a  fool  as  to  enter  a 
cave  without  an  outlet,  preferred  watch 
ing  the  banks  of  the  river,  in  case  Red 
Cedar  tried  to  escape  in  that  way. 

The  chiefs  previsions  were  correct. 

Bed  Cedar,  as  we  have  seen,  attempt- 
ed  to  fly  by  the  second  outlet  of  the 
grotto.  After  swimming  for  some  dis 
tance,  the  squatter  landed  on  a  small 
islet,  and  almost  immediately  disap 
peared  in  a  dense  clump  of  trees. 

Not  one  of  his  movements  had  es 
caped  Curumilla,  who  was  hidden  be 
hind  a  projecting  rock. 

Red  Cedar  reappeared  on  horseback. 

The  Indian  chief  took  a  careful  aim 
at  him,  and  at  the  moment  the  animal 
put  its  hoof  in  the  water  it  fell  back, 
dragging  down  its  rider  with  it. 

Curumilla  had  put  a  bullet  through 
the  horse's  skull. 

Red  Cedar  rose  with  the  rapidity  of 
lightning,  and  dashed  into  the  water. 

The  hunters  looked  at  each  other  for 
a  moment  in  disappointment. 

"  Bah  !"  Valentine  said,  philosophi 
cally.  "  That  bandit  is  not  to  be  fear 
ed  now  ;  we  have  clipped  his  nails." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Bloodson  ;  "  but 
they  will  grow  again  !" 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE  GROTTO. 

WE  will  now  resume  our  narrative 
at  the  point  where  we  left  it  at  the  end 
of  our  first  chapter,  and  rejoin  Red 
Cedar,  who  thanks  to  the  weapons  found 
in  the  cache,  had  regained  all  his  fero 
city  and  was  already  dreaming  of  re 
venge. 

The  bandit's  position,  however,  was 
still  very  perplexing,  and  would  have 
terrified  any  man  whose  mind  was  not 
so  strong  as  his  own. 

However  large  the  desert  may  be — 
however  perfect  a  man's  knowledge 
may  be  of  the  prairie  refuges — it  is  im 
possible  for  him,  if  alone,  to  escape  for 
any  length  of  time  the  search  of  per 
sons  who  have  an  interest  in  catching 
him. 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


This  had  just  been  proved  to  Red 
Cedar  in  a  peremptory  way  :  he  did 
not  conceal  from  himself  the  number 
less  difficulties  that  surrounded  him, 
and  could  not  dream  of  regaining  his 
encampment. 

The  enemies  on  his  track  would  not 
fail  to  catch  him,  and  this  time  they 
would  not  allow  him  to  escape  so 
'  easily. 

This  position  was  intolerable,  and  it 
must  be  put  an  end  to  at  all  risks. 
But  Red  Cedar  was  not  the  man  to  re 
main  crushed  by  the  blow  that  had 
struck  him  :  he  drew  himself  together 
again,  in  order  to  prepare  his  vengeance 
promptly.  Like  all  evil  natures,  Red 
Cedar  regarded  as  an  insult  all  attempts 
persons  made  to  escape  from  his  per- 
fidity.  At  this  moment  he  had  a  rude 
account  to  settle  with  whites  and  red 
skins.  Alone  as  he  was,  he  could  not 
think  of  rejoining  his  comrades  and  at 
tacking  the  enemies,  who  would  have 
crushed  him  under  their  heel  like  a 
venomous  serpent :  he  needed  allies. 

His  hesitation  was  but  short,  and  his 
plan  was  formed  in  a  few  minutes. 

He  resolved  to  carry  out  the  project 
for  which  he  had  left  his  comrades,  and 
proceeded  toward  an  Apache  village, 
situate  a  short  distance  off. 

Still,  he  did  not  intend  to  go  there, 
for  the  present  at  least,  for,  after  a 
rapid  walk  of  more  than  three  hours, 
he  suddenly  turned  to  his  right,  and  re 
tiring  from  the  banks  of  the  Gil  a, 
which  he  had  hitherto  followed,  he  left 
the  road  to  the  village,  and  entered  a 
mountainous  region,  differing  entirety 
in  its  character  from  the  plains  he  had 
hitherto  traversed. 

The  ground  rose  perceptibly,  and  was 
intersected  by  streams  that  ran  down 
to  the  Gila.  Clumps  of  the  ferns, 
drawing  closer  together,  served  as  the 
advanced  guard  of  a  gloomy  virgin 
forest  on  the  horizon.  The  landscape 
gradually  assumed  a  more  savage  and 
abrupt  aspect,  and  spurs  of  the  impos 
ing  Sierra  Madre  displayed  here  and 
there  their  desolate  peaks. 

Red  Cedar  walked  along  with  that 
light  and  springy  step  peculiar  to  men 
accustomed  to  cover  long  distances  on 
foot,  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor 


left,  and  apparently  following  a  direc 
tion  he  was  perfectly  acquainted  with. 
Smiling  at  his  thoughts,  he  did  not 
seem  to  notice  that  the  sun  had  almost 
entirely  disappeared  behind  the  impos 
ing  mass  of  the  virgin  forest,  and  that 
night  was  falling  with  extreme  rapidity. 

The  howling  of  the  wild  beasts 
could  be  heard  echoing  in  the  depths  of 
the  ravines,  mingled  with  the  miawling 
of  the  carcajous  and  the  barking  of  the 
prairie  wolves — bands  of  which  were 
already  prowling  at  a  short  distance 
from  the  bandit. 

But  he,  apparently  insensible  to  all 
these  hints  about  getting  a  resting-place 
for  the  night,  continued  his  advance  in 
the  mountains,  among  which  he  had  en 
tered  some  time  previously. 

On  reaching  a  species  of  cross-road, 
if  such  a  term  can  be  employed  in 
speaking  of  a  country  where  no  roads 
exist,  he  stopped  and  looked  all  around 
him. 

After  a  few  moments'  hesitation,  he 
buried  himself  in  a  narrow  path  run 
ning  between  two  hills,  and  boldly 
climbed  up  a  very  steep  ascent. 

At  length,  after  a  fatiguing  climb, 
that  lasted  nearly  three-quarters  of  an 
hour,  he  reached  a  spot  where  the  path, 
suddenly  interrupted,  only  presented  a 
gulf,  in  the  bottom  of  which  the  mur 
murs  of  invisible  waters  could  be  just 
heard. 

The  precipice  was  about  twenty  yards 
in  width,  and  over  it  lay  an  enormous 
log,  serving  as  a  bridge. 

At  the  end  of  this  was  the  entrance 
of  a  natural  grotto,  in  which  the  flames 
of  a  fire  flashed  up  at  intervals. 

Red  Cedar  stopped — a  smile  of  satis 
faction  curled  his  thin  lips  at  the  sight 
of  the  flames  reflected  on  the  walls  of 
the  grotto. 

"  They  are  there,"  he  said,  in  a  low 
voice,  and  as  if  speaking  to  himself. 

He  then  put  his  fingers  in  his  mouth, 
and  imitated  with  rare  skill  the  soft  and 
cadenced  note  of  the  maukawis. 

An  instant  after,  a  similar  cry  was 
heard  from  the  grotto. 

Red  Cedar  clapped  his  hands  thrice. 

The  gigantic  shadow  of  a  man,  reflect 
ed  by  the  light  of  the  fire,  appeared  in 
the  entrance  of  the  grotto,  and  a  rude 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


35 


and  powerful  voice  shouted  in  the  pur 
est  Castilian — 

"  Who  goes  there  1" 
"  A  friend,"  the  bandit  answered. 
"Your  name,"  the  stranger  continu 
ed  ;    "  there  are  no  friends  in  the  des 
ert  at  this  hour  of  the  night." 

"  Oh,    oh  !"    Red   Cedar   continued  ; 

•bursting  into  a  hoarse  laugh,  "  I  see  thai 

J  Don  Pedro  Sandoval  is  as  prudent  as 

ever." 

"  Man  or  demon,  as  you  know  me  so 
w  ell,"  the  stranger  said,  in  a  somewhat 
softer  tone,  '*  tell  me  what  your  name 
is,  I  say  once  again,  or,  by  heaven,  I'll 
lodge  a  couple  of  slugs  in  your  skull. 
So  do  not  let  me  run  the  risk  of  killing 
a  friend." 

"  Come,  come,  calm  yourself,  hidal 
go  ;  did  you  not  recognise  my  voice, 
and  have  you  so  short  a  memory  that 
you  have  already  forgotten  Red  Cedar." 
*'  Red  Cedar  !"  the  Spaniard  repeated 
in  surprise,  "  then  you  are  not  hung 
yet,  my  worthy  friend  ?" 

"  Not  yet,  to  my  knowledge,  gossip. 
I  hope  to  prove  it  to  you  ere  long." 

"  Come  across,  in  the  devil's  name  ; 
do  not  let  us  go  on  talking  at  this  dis 
tance." 

The  stranger  left  the  bridge-head, 
where  he  had  stationed  himself,  proba 
bly  to  dispute  the  passage  in  case  of 
necessity,  and  drew  oft',  uncocking  his 
rifle. 

Not  waiting  for  a  second  invitation, 
Red  Cedar  bounded  on  to  the  tree  and 
crossed  it  in  a  few  seconds ;  he  affec 
tionately  shook  the  Spaniard's  hand, 
and  then  they  entered  the  grotto  to 
gether. 

This  grotto  or  cavern,  whichever  you 
please  to  call  it,  was  wide  and  lofty,  di 
vided  into  several  compartments  by 
large  frames  of  reeds,  rising  to  a 
height  of  at  least  eight  feet,  and  form 
ing  ten  rooms  or  cells,  five  on  either 
side  the  grotto,  beginning  at  about 
twenty  paces  from  the  entrance  —  a 
space  left  free  to  act  as  kitchen  and 
dining-room.  The  entrance  to  each 
cell  was  formed  by  a  zarape,  which  de 
scended  to  the  ground  after  the  fashion 
of  a  curtain  door. 

At  the  extremity  of  the  passage  that 
ran  between  the  two  rows  of  cells  was 


another  compartment,  serving  as  store 
houses  ;  and  beyond  this  a  natural  pas 
sage  ran  through  the  mountain,  and  ter 
minated  almost  a  league  off,  in  an  al 
most  inaccessible  ravine. 

All  proved  that  this  grotto  was  not  a 
bivouac  chosen  for  a  night  or  two,  but 
an  abode  adopted  for  many  years  past, 
in  which  all  the  comfort  had  been  col 
lected  which  it  is  possible  to  procure  in 
these  regions  remote  from  any  centre 
of  population. 

Round  the  fire,  over  which  an  enor 
mous  quarter  of  elk  meat  was  roasting, 
nine  men,  armed  to  the  teeth,  were  sit 
ting  and  smoking  in  silence. 

On  Red  Cedar's  entrance,  they  rose 
and  came  up  to  shake  his  hand  eagerly, 
and  with  a  species  of  respect. 

These  men  wore  the  garb  of  hunters 
or  woodrangers  :  their  marked  features, 
their  ferocious  and  crafty  faces,  on  which 
the  traces  of  the  most  disgraceful  and 
ignoble  passions  were  marked  in  indeli 
ble  characters,  strongly  lighted  up  by 
the  fjintastic  flashes  of  the  fire,  had 
something  strange  and  gloomy  about 
them,  which  inspired  terror  and  revul 
sion. 

It  could  be  guessed  at  the  first  glance 
that  these  men,  the  unclean  scum  of  ad 
venturers  of  all  nations,  lost  in  sin*  and 
compelled  to  fly  to  the  desert  to  escape 
the  iron  hand  of  justice,  had  declared  an 
obstinate  war  against  those  who  had 
placed  them  beyond  the  pale  of  the 
common  law  of  nations,  and  were,  in  a 
word,  what  are  called,  by  common  con 
sent,  Pirates  of  the  Prairies. 

Pitiless   men,   a   hundred-fold    more 
ruffianly  than  the   most  ferocious  red- 
kins,  who  conceal  a  soul  of  mud  and  a 
tiger's  heart  under  a  human  appearance, 
and  who,  having  adopted  the  savage  life 
f  the  Far  West,  have  assumed  all  the 
vices  of  the  white  and  red  races,  without 
retaining  one  of  their  qualities.   Villains, 
n  a  word,  who  only  know  murder  and 
robbery,  and  for  a  little  gold  are  capable 
f  the  greatest  crimes. 

Such  was  the  company  Red  Cedar  had 
jome  so  far  to  seek. 

We  are  bound  to  add,  and  the  reader 
will  easily  believe  it,  that  he  was  not 
out  of  his  place,  and  that  his  antece 
dents,  on  the  contrary,  gained  him  a 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


certain  degree  of  consideration  from 
these  bandits,  with  whom  he  had  been 
long  acquainted. 

"  Caballeros,"  Sandoval  said,  bowing 
with  exquisite  politeness  to  the  brigands, 
his  comrades,  "  our  friend,  Red  Cedar, 
has  returned  among  us ;  let  us  greet 
him  like  a  jolly  companion  whom  we 
have  missed  too  long,  and  whom  we  are 
delighted  to  see  again." 

'*  Senores,"  Red  Cedar  answered,  as 
he  took  a  seat  by  the  fire,  "  I  thank  you 
for  your  cordial  reception,  and  hope 
soon  to  prove  to  you  that  I  am  not  un 
grateful." 

"Well!"  one  of  the  bandits  said, 
"  has  our  friend  any  good  news  to  im 
part  to  us  ?  It  would  be  welcome, 
deuce  take  me!  for  a  whole  month  we 
have  had  to  scheme  a  living." 

"  Are  you  really  in  that  state  ?"  the 
squatter  asked,  with  interest. 

"  Quite  so,"  Sandoval  confirmed  him  ; 
"  and  Pericco  has  only  spoken  the  ex 
act  tru:h.". 

"  Hang  it  all !"  Red  Cedar  went  ton, 
"  I  have  come  at  the  right  moment, 
then." 

"  Eh  1"  the  bandits  said,  pricking  up 
their  ears. 

"  And  yet  I  fancy  that,  for  some  time 
past,  caravans  have  been  becoming  more 
numerous  in  the  desert :  there  is  no  lack 
of  white  or  red  trappers,  who  every  now 
and  then  can  be  saved  the  trouble  of 
carrying  their  beaver-skins.  I  have 
even  heard  speak  of  several  parties  of 
gambusinos." 

*'  The  gambusinos  are  as  badly  off  as 
ourselves,"  Sandoval  replied  ;  "  and  as 
for  trappers,  they  are  the  very  men  who 
injure  us.  Ah!  rny  friend,  the  desert 
is  not  worth  a  hang  now  ;  the  white 
men  are  drawing  too  close  together, 
they  are  gradually  invading  the  territory 
of  the  redskins,  and  who  knows  whether, 
in  ten  years  from  this  time,  we  shall  not 
have  towns  all  round  the  spot  where  we 
now  are  1" 

"  There  is  some  truth  in  your  re 
mark,"  Red  Cedar  observed,  as  he  shook 
his  head  thoughtfully. 

"  Yes,"  Pericco  said;  "and,  unfortu 
nately,  the  remedy  is  difficult,  if  not  im 
possible  to  find." 

"Perhaps  so,"  Red  Cedar  went  on, 


tossing  his  head  in  a  way  which  caused 
the  Pirates  to  wonder  what  he  was 
driving  at.  "  In  the  meanwhile,"  he 
added,  "  as  I  have  made  a  long  journey, 
feel  very  tired,  and  have  a  tremendous 
appetite,  I  will  feed,  with  your  permis 
sion,  especially  as  it  is  late,  and  the 
meal  is  admirably  cooked." 

Without  further  ceremony,  Red  Cedar 
cut  a  large  slice  of  elk,  which  he  placed 
before  him,  and  began  incontinently  de 
vouring. 

The  Pirates  followed  his  example, 
and  for  some  time  the  conversation  was 
naturally  suspended. 

A  hunter's  meal  is  never  long ;  the 
present  one  was  soon  over,  owing  to  the 
impatience  of  the  band,  whose  curio 
sity  was  aroused  to  the  highest  degree 
by  the  few  words  dropped  by  the  squat 
ter. 

"  Well,"  Sandoval  began  again,  as  he 
lit  a  cigarette,  "  now  that  supper  is 
over,  suppose  we  have  a  chat.  Are  you 
agreeable,  comrade  ?" 

"  Willingly,"  Red  Cedar  replied,  as 
he  settled  himself  comfortably,  and  filled 
his  pipe. 

"  You  were  saying  then "  Sando 
val  remarked. 

"  Pardon  me,"  the  squatter  inter 
rupted  him ;  "  I  was  saying  nothing. 
You  were  complaining,  I  believe,  about 
the  whites  destroying  your  trade  by 
coming  closer  and  closer  to  your  abode." 

"  Yes,  that  was  what  I  was  saying." 

"  You  added,  if  my  memory  serves 
me  right,  that  the  remedy  was  impos 
sible  to  find?" 

"  To  which  you  answered,  perhaps." 

"  I  said  so,  and  repeat  it." 

"  Explain  yourself,  then." 

"  The  affair  1  have  come  to  propose 
to  you  is  extremely  simple :  .For  some 
years  past  the  whites  have  been  gradu 
ally  invading  the  desert,  which,  in  a 
given  time  which  is  not  remote,  will  end 
by  disappearing  before  the  incessant 
efforts  of  civilization." 

"  It  is  true*" 

"  Well,  if  you  like,  within  a  month 
you  shall  be  rich  men." 

"  We  will,  carai,"  the  bandits  ex 
claimed  in  a  formidable  voice. 

"  1  will  tell  you  the  affair  in  two 
words :  1  have  discovered  a  placer  of 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


37 


incalculable  wealth ;  twenty  leagues 
from  here,  I  have  left  one  hundred  men 
devoted  to  my  fortunes.  Will  you  imi 
tate  them  and  follow  me?  I  promise 
each  of  you  more  gold  than  he  ever  saw 
in  his  liie  or  ever  dreamed  of  possess 
ing." 

"  Hum  !"  said  Sandoval ;  "  it  is 
tempting." 

"  1  thought  of  you,  my  old  comrades," 
Red  Cedar  continued  with  hypocritical 
simplicity,  "  and  have  come.  Now,  you 
know  my  plan ;  reflect  on  what  I  have 
said  to  you ;  to-morrow,  at  sunrise,  you 
will  give  me  your  answer." 

And,  without  mingling  further  in  the 
conversation,  Red  Cedar  rolled  himself 
up  in  a  zarape,  and  fell  asleep,  leaving 
the  bandits  to  discuss  among  themselves 
Hie  chance  of  success  his  magnificent 
proposal  offered. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    PROPOSITION. 

RED  CEDAR,  immediately  that  he  en 
tered  the  Ear  West,  had,  with  the  expe 
rience  of  old  wood-rangers  which  he  pos 
sessed  in  the  highest  degree,  chosen  a 
suitable  site  for  his  band  to  encamp. 
He  did  not  wish  to  enter  the  desert 
without  ensuring  allies  on  whom  he 
could  count,  in  the  event  of  his  being 
attacked. 

The  Pawnee  ambuscade,  prepared 
vith  the  skill  characteristic  of  the  sa 
vages,  which  had  been  on  the  point  of 
succeeding,  and  from  which  he  had  only 
escaped  by  accident,  was  a  warning  to 
him  of  the  snares  that  would  be  laid  for 
him,  and  the  dangers  that  would  menace 
him  at  every  step  during  the  long  jour 
ney  he  was  about  to  undertake  across 
the  prairies. 

Red  Cedar  was  one  of  those  men  who 
make  it  a  principle  to  neglect  nothing 
that  can  insure  the  success  of  their  plans  ; 
he,  therefore,  resolved  to  protect  him 
self  from  any  attack  as  speedily  as  pos 
sible.  His  first  care  was  to  choose  a 
spot  where  he  could  encamp  his  band,  so 
as  to  be  protected  from  all  Indian 
marauders,  and  offer  an  advantageous 

/  O 


resistance,  in  the  case  of  a  serious  at 
tack. 

The  Rio  Gila  forms  a  multitude  of 
wooded  islets,  some  of  which,  rising  in 
a  conical  form,  are  very  difficult  of  ac 
cess  owing  to  the  escarpment  of  their 
banks,  and  especially  through  the  ra 
pidity  of  the  current. 

It  was  on  one  of  these  islands  that 
Red  Cedar  bivouacked  his  men. 

Peru  trees,  mezquites,  and  cotton- 
wood  trees,  which  grew  abundantly  on 
this  island,  mingled  with  creepers  that 
twined  round  their  stems  in  inextricable 
confusion,  formed  an  impenetrable 
thicket,  behind  which  they  could  boldly 
sustain  a  siege,  while  offering  the  im 
mense  advantage  of  forming  a  wall  of 
verdure,  through  whose  openings  it  was 
easy  to  watch  both  banks  of  the  river, 
and  any  suspicious  movements  on  the 
prairie. 

So  soon  as  the  gambusinos  had  landed 
on  the  island,  they  glided  like  serpents 
into  the  interior,  dragging  their  horses 
after  them,  and  being  careful  to  do  no 
thing  that  might  reveal  their  encamp 
ment  to  the  sharp-sighted  Indians. 

So  soon  as  the  camp  was  established, 
and  Red  Cedar  believed  that,  tempo 
rarily  at  least,  his  band  was  in  safety, 
he  assembled  the  principal  leaders,  in 
order  to  communicate  his  intentions  to 
them. 

They  were,  first,  Fray  Ambrosio, 
then  Andres  Garote,  Harry  and  Dick, 
the  two  Canadian  hunters,  and,  lastly, 
the  squatter's  two  sons,  Nathan  and 
Sutter,  and  the  Chief  of  the  Coras. 

Several  trees  had  been  felled  to  form 
a  suitable  site  for  the  fires  and  the  tents 
of  the  women,  and  Red  Cedar,  mounted 
on  his  steed,  was  soon  in  the  centre  of 
the  chiefs  collected  around  him. 

"Senores,"  he  said  to  them,  "we 
have  at  length  entered  the  Far  West: 
our  expedition  now  really  commences, 
and  I  count  on  your  courage,  and,  above 
all,  your  experience,  to  carry  it  out  suc 
cessfully  ;  but  prudence  demands  that 
on  the  prairies,  where  we  run  the  risk 
of  being  attacked  by  enemies  of  every 
description  at  any  moment,  we  should 
secure  allies  who,  in  case  of  need,  could 
protect  us  efficiently.  The  ambuscade 
we  escaped,  scarce  eight-and-forty  hours 


88 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


ago,  renders  it  a  duty  to  redouble  our 
vigilance,  and,  above  all,  hasten  to  enter 
into  communication  with  the  friends  we 
possess  in  the  desert." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  monk ;  "  but  I  do  not 
know  these  friends." 

"But  I  know  them,  and  that  is 
enough,"  Red  Cedar  replied. 

"  Very  good,"  Fray  Ambrosio  went 
on  ;  "  but  where  are  they  to  be  found  ?" 

"  I  know  where  to  find  them.  You 
are  here  in  an  excellent  position,  where 
you  can  hold  your  own  for  a  long  time, 
without  any  fear  of  it  being  carried. 
This  is  what  I  have  resolved  on." 

"Come,  gossip,  explain  yourself;  I 
am  anxious  to  know  your  plans,"  said 
the  monk. 

"  You  shall  be  satisfied :  I  am  going 
to  start  at  once  in  search  of  my  friends, 
whom  I  am  certain  of  finding  within  a 
few  hours :  you  will  not  stir  from  here 
till  my  return." 

"  Hum, !  and  will  you  be  long  absent1?" 

"Two  days,  then,  at  the  most." 

"That  is  a  long  time,"  Garote  re 
marked. 

"  During  that  period  you  will  conceal 
your  presence  as  far  as  possible.  Let 
no  one  suspect  you  are  encamped  here. 
I  will  bring  you  the  ten  best  rifles  in 
the  Far  West,  and  with  their  protection, 
and  that  of  Stanapat,  the  great  Apache 
Chief  of  the  Buffalo  tribe,  whom  i  ex 
pect  to  see  also,  we  can  traverse  the  de 
sert  in  perfect  safety." 

"But  who  will  command  the  band  in 
your  absence  ?"  Fray  Ambrosio  asked. 

"  You,  and  these  caballeros.  But  re 
member  this  :  you  will  under  no  pre 
text  leave  the  island." 

"'Tis  enough,  Red  Cedar,  you  can 
start ;  we  shall  not  stir  till  you  return." 

After  a  few  more  words  of  slight  im 
portance,  Red  Cedar  left  the  clearing, 
swam  his  horse  over  the  river,  ai^d  on 
Breaching  firm  ground,  buried  himself  in 
the  tall  grass,  where  he  soon  disap 
peared. 

It  was  about  six  in  the  evening,  when 
the  squatter  left  his  comrades,  to  go  in 
search  of  the  men  whom  he  hoped  to 
make  his  allies. 

The  gambusinos  had  paid  but  slight 
attention  to  the  departure  of  their  chief, 
the  cause  of  which  they  were  ignorant 


of,  and  which  they  supposed  would  not 
last  long. 

The  night  had  completely  fallen. 

The  gambusinos,  wearied  by  a  long 
journey,  were  sleeping,  wrapped  in  their 
zarapes,  round  the  fire,  while  two  sen 
tries  alone  watched  over  the  common 
safety. 

They  were  Dick  and  Harry,  the  two 
Canadian  hunters,  whom  chance  had  so 
untowardly  brought  among  these  ban 
dits. 

Three  men  leaning  against  the  trunk 
of  an  enormous  ungquito  were  convers 
ing  in  a  low  voice. 

They  were  Andres  Garote,  Fray  Am 
brosio,  and  Eagle-wing. 

A  few  paces  from  them  was  the  leafy- 
cabin,  beneath  whose  precarious  shelter 
reposed  the  squatter's  wife,  her  daughter 
Ellen,  and  Dona  Clara. 

The  three  men,  absorbed  in  the  con 
versation,  did  not  notice  a  white  shadow- 
emerge  from  the  cabin,  glide  silently 
along,  and  lean  against  the  very  tree,  at 
the  loot  of  which  they  were. 

Eagle-wing,  with  that  penetration 
which  distinguishes  the  Indians,  had 
read  the  hatred  which  existed  between 
Fray  Ambrosio  and  Red  Cedar ;  but 
the  Coras  had  kept  this  discovery  in  his 
h'eart,  intending  to  take  advantage  of  it 
when  the  opportunity  presented  itself. 

"  Chief,"  the  monk  said,  "  do  you 
suspect  who  the  allies  are  Red  Cedar 
has  gone  to  seek  ?" 

"  No,"  the  other  replied,  "  how 
should  I  know  ?" 

"  Still  it  must  interest  you,  for  you 
are  not  so  great  a  friend  of  the  Gringo 
as  you  would  like  to  appear." 

"  The  Indians  have  a  very  dense 
mind ;  let  rny  father  explain  himself  so 
that  I  may  understand  him,  and  be  able 
to  answer  him." 

"  Listen,"  the  monk  continued,  in  a 
dry  voice  and  with  a  sharp  accent,  "  I 
know  who  you  are :  your  disguise, 
clever  and  exact  though  it  be,  was  not 
sufficient  to  deceive  me  :  at  the  first 
glance  I  recognized  you.  Do  you  be 
lieve  that  if  1  had  said  to  Red  Cedar, 
this  man  is  a  spy  or  a  traitor ;  he  has 
crept  among  us  to  make  us  tall  into  a 
trap  prepared  long  beforehand  :  in  a 
word,  this  man  is  no  other  than  Mouka- 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


pec,  the  principal  Cacique  of  the  Coras  ? 
Do  you  believe,  I  say,  that  Red  Cedar 
would  have  hesitated  to  blow  out  your 
brains,  eh,  chief?  Answer." 

During  these  words  whose  significance 
was  terrible  to  him,  the  Coras  had  re 
mained  unmoved  ;  not  a  muscle  of  his 
lace  had  quivered. 

When  the  monk  ceased  speaking,  he 
smiled  disdainfully,  and  contented  him 
self  with  replying  in  a  haughty  voice, 
while  looking  at  him  fixedly  : 

"  Why  did  not  my  father  tell  this  to 
the  scalp-hunter  1  He  was  wrong." 

The  monk  was  discountenanced  by 
this  reply,  which  he  was  far  from  ex 
pecting  ;  he  understood  that  he  had 
before  him  one  of  those  energetic  na 
tures  over  which  threats  have  no  pow 
er.  Still  he  had  advanced  too  far  to 
draw  back :  he  resolved  to  go  on  to 
the  end,  whatever  might  happen. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  said,  with  an  evil 
smile,  "  at  any  rate,  I  have  it  in  my 
power  to  warn  our  chief  in  his  return.11' 

"  My  father  will  act  as  he  thinks 
proper,"  the  chief  replied  drily,  "  Mou- 
kapec  is  a  renowned  warrior,  the  bark 
ing  of  the  coyotes  never  terrified  him." 

"  Come,  come,  Indian,  you  are 
wrong,"  Garote  interposed,  "  you  are 
mistaken  as  to  the  Padre's  intentions 
with  respect  to  you  ;  I  am  perfectly 
convinced  that  he  does  not  wish  to  in 
jure  you  in  any  way." 

"  Moukapec  is  not  an  old  woman 
who  can  be  cheated  with  words,"  the 
Coras  said ;  "he  cares  little  for  the 
present  intentions  of  the  man,  who, 
during  the  burning  of  his  village,  and 
the  massacre  of  his  brothers,  excited 
his  enemies  to  murder  and  arson.  The 
chief  follows  his  vengeance  alone,  he 
will  know  how  to  attain  it  without  ally 
ing  himself  to  one  of  his  foes  to  get  it. 
I  have  spoken." 

After  uttering  these  words,  the  Indian 
chief  rose,  dressed  himself  in  his  buffalo 
robe,  and  withdrew,  leaving  the  two 
Mexicans  disconcerted  by  this  resistance 
which  they  were  far  from  anticipating. 

Both  looked  after  him  for  a  while 
with  admiration  mingled  with  anger. 

"  Hum  !"  the  monk  at  length  mut 
tered  ;  "  dog  of  a  savage,  Indian,  brute, 
beast,  he  shall  pay  me  for  it." 


"  Take  care,  Senor  Padre,"  the  Gam- 
busino  said,  "we  are  not  in  luck  at 
this  moment.  Let  us  leave  this  man 
with  whom  we  can  effect  nothing,  and 
seek  something  else.  Every  man 
reaches  his  point  who  knows  how  to 
wait,  and  the  moment  will  arrive  to 
avenge  ourselves  on  him  ;  till  then,  let 
us  dissimulate — that  is  the  best  thing,  I 
believe,  for  us  to  do." 

"  Did  you  notice  that,  on  leaving  us, 
Red  Cedar  did  not  say  a  syllable  about 
his  prisoner  ?" 

"  For  what  good  ?  he  knows  she  is  in 
perfect  safety  here,  any  flight  from  this 
island  is  impossible." 

"  That  is  true  ;  but  why  did  he  carry 
off  this  woman  ?" 

"  Who  knows  ?  Red  Cedar  is  one  of 
those  men  whose  thoughts  it  is  always 
dangerous  to  sound.  Up  to  the  pres 
ent,  we  cannot  read  his  conduct  clearly 
enough ;  let  him  return,  perhaps  then 
the  object  he  has  in  view  will  be  unfold 
ed  to  us." 

"  That  woman  annoys  me  here,"  the 
monk  said  in  a  hollow  voice. 

"  What's  to  be  done  ?  down  there  at 
Santa  Fe  I  did  not  hesitate  to  serve 
you  in  trying  to  get  rid  of  her ;  but 
now  it  is  too  late — it  would  be  madness 
to  drearri  of  it.  What  matter  to  us, 
after  all,  whether  she  be  with  us,  or 
not  ?  Believe  me,  make  up  your  mind 
to  it,  and  speak  no  more  about  it. 
Bah  !  she  will  not  prevent  us  reaching 
the  placer." 

The  monk  shook  his  head  with  a  dis 
satisfied  air,  but  made  no  reply. 

The  Gambusino  wrapped  himself  in 
his  zarape,  lay  down  on  the  ground,  and 
fell  asleep. 

Fray  Ambrosio,  for  his  part,  remain 
ed  plunged  in  gloomy  thoughts. 

What  was  he  thinking  of?  some 
treachery,  doubtless. 

When  the  woman  who  had  been 
leaning  against  the  tree,  perceived  that 
the  conversation  was  at  an  end,  she 
glided  softly  away,  and  re-entered  the 
cabin. 


40 


1I1E    P1KATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

ELLEN  AND    DONA  CLARA. 

SINCE  she  had  fallen  again  into  the 
power  of  Red  Cedar,  Dona  Clara,  a 
prey  to  a  gloomy  sorrow,  had  yielded 
unresistingly  to  her  abductors,  despair 
ing  ever  to  escape  from  them  ;  especial 
ly  since  she  had  seen  the  men  in  whose 
power  she  was,  definitely  take  the  road 
to  the  desert. 

For  a  maiden,  accustomed  to  all  the 
refinements  of  luxury,  and  all  those 
little  attentions  which  a  father's  love 
continually  lavished  on  her,  the  new 
existence  commencing  was  an  uninter 
rupted  succession  of  tortures,  among 
half  savage  ruffians,  whose  brutal  ways 
and  coarse  language  constantly  made 
her  fear  insults  she  would  have  been 
too  weak  to  repulse. 

Still,  up  to  this  moment,  Red  Cedar's 
conduct  had  been — we  will  not  say  re 
spectful,  for  the  squatter  was  ignorant 
of  such  refinements — but,  at  any  rate, 
proper,  that  is  to  say,  he  had  affected 
to  pay  no  attention  to  her  while  order 
ing  his  men  not  to  trouble  her  in  any 
way. 

Dona  Clara  had  been  entrusted  by 
the  scalp-hunter  to  his  wife  Betsy  and 
his  daughter  Ellen. 

The  Megera,  after  giving  the  maiden 
an  ugly  look,  had  turned  her  back  on 
her,  and  did  not  once  address  her — con 
duct  which  was  most  agreeable  to  the 
young  Mexican!, 

As  for  Ellen,  she  had  constituted  her 
self,  on  her  private  authority,  the  friend 
of  the  prisoner,  to  whom  she  rendered 
all  those  small  services  her  position  al 
lowed  her,  with  a  delicacy  and  tact  lit 
tle  to  be  expected  from  a  girl  educated 
in  the  desert  by  a  father  like  her's. 

At  the  outset,  Dona  Clara,  absorbed 
in  her  grief,  had  paid  no  attention  to 
Ellen's  kindness,  but  gradually,  in 
spite  of  herself,  the  young  American's 
unchanging  gentleness,  and  her  pa 
tience,  which  nothing  rebuffed,  affected 
herj  she  had  felt  the  services  which 
the  other  occasionally  rendered  her, 
and  had  gradually  learned  to  feel  for 
the  squatter's  daughter  a  degree  of 


gratitude  which  presently  ripened  into 
friendship. 

Youth  is  naturally  confiding;  when 
a  great  grief  oppresses  it,  the  need  of 
entrusting  that  grief  to  a  person  who 
seems  to  sympathize  with  it,  renders 
it  expansive. 

Alone  among  the  bandits,  to  whom 
chance  had  handed  her  over,  Dona  Cla 
ra  must  inevitably — so  soon  as  the 
first  paroxysm  of  suffering  had  passed *" 
— seek  for  some  one  to  console  her,  and 
help  her  in  enduring  the  immense  mis 
fortune  that  crushed  her. 

And  this  had  occurred  much  more 
rapidly  than  under  ordinary  circum 
stances,  thanks  to  the  sympathising 
kindness  of  the  young  American,  who 
had  in  a  few  hours  found  the  way  to 
her  heart. 

Red  Cedar,  whom  nothing  escaped, 
smiled  cunningly  at  the  friendship  of 
the  two  maidens,  which,  however,  he 
feigned  not  to  perceive. 

It  was  a  strange  thing,  but  this  scalp- 
hunter,  this  man  that  seemed  to  have 
nothing  human  about  him,  who  perspir 
ed  crime  at  every  pore,  whose  ferocity 
was  unbounded,  had  in  his  heart  one 
feeling  which  attached  him  victoriously 
to  the  human  family,  a  profound,  illim 
itable  love  for  Ellen — the  love  of  the 
tiger  for  its  cubs. 

This  frail  girl  was  the  sole  creature 
for  whom  his  heart  beat  more  violently. 
How  great,  how  powerful  was  the  love 
Red  Cedar  experienced  for  this  simple 
child !  it  was  a  worship,  an  adoration. 
A  word  from  her  little  mouth  caused 
the  ferocious  bandit  to  feel  indescriba 
ble  delight ;  a  smile  from  her  rosy  lips 
overwhelmed  him  with  happiness. 

By  her  charming  caresses,  her  gentle 
and  insinuating  words,  Ellen  had  power 
to  govern  despotically  that  gathering  of 
birds  of  prey  which  was  her  family. 

The  chaste  kiss  his  daughter  gave 
him  every  morning,  was  the  sunbeam 
that  for  the  whole  day  warmed  the 
heart  of  the  terrible  bandit,  before  whom 
everybody  trembled,  and  who  himself 
trembled  at  a  slight  frown  from  her, 
who  combined  all  the  joy  and  happi 
ness  of  his  life. 

It  was  with  extreme  satisfaction  that 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE   PRAIRIES. 


41 


he  saw  his  daughter  become  his  inno 
cent  accomplice  by  acquiring  the  con 
fidence  of  his  prisoner,  and  gaining  her 
friendship.  This  gentle  girl  was  in  his 
sight  the  securest  gaoler  he  could  give 
Dona  Clara. 

Hence,  in  order,  to  facilitate,  as  far 

as  possible,  all  that  could  enhance  the 

friendship,  he  had  completely  closed  his 

^eyes,  and  feigned  to  be  ignorant  of  the 

approximation  between  the  two  girls. 

It  was  Ellen  who  had  listened  to  the 
conversation  between  the  monk  and  the 
Gambusino. 

At  the  moment  she  was  re-entering 
the  hut,  the  stifled  sound  of  voices  in 
duced  her  to  listen. 

Dona  Clara  was  speaking  in  a  low 
voice  to  a  man,  and  that  man  was  the 
Sachem  of  the  Coras. 

Ellen,  surprised  in  the  highest  de 
gree,  listened  anxiously  to  their  con 
versation,  which  soon  greatly  interest 
ed  her. 

After  leaving  the  two  Mexicans, 
Eagle-wing  had,  for  some  minutes, walk 
ed  about  the  camp  with  an  affected 
carelessness,  intended  to  remove  the 
suspicions  of  any  who  might  have  been 
tempted  to  watch  his  movements. 

When  he  fancied  he  had  dispelled 
any  suspicions,  the  Indian  chief  insensi 
bly  drew  nearer  to  the  cabin,  which 
served  as  a  refuge  to  the  maidens,  and 
entered  it,  after  assuring  himself  by  a 
glance,  that  no  one  was  watching. 

Dona  Clara  was  alone,  at  this  mo 
ment. 

We  have  told  the  reader  where  El 
len  was ;  as  for  the  squatter's  wife, 
faithful  to  her  husband's  instructions 
not  to  annoy  the  prisoner  in  any  way, 
she  was  quietly  asleep  by  the  fire,  in 
the  clearing. 

The  maiden,  with  her  head  bowed  on 
her  bosom,  was  plunged  in  deep  and  sad 
thought.  At  the  sound  of  the  Indian's 
steps,  she  raised  her  head,  and  could  not 
restrain  a  start  of  terror  on  seeing  him. 

Eagle-wing  immediately  perceived  the 
impression  he  produced  on  her,  he  stop 
ped  on  the  threshold  of  the  cabin,  folded 
his  arms  on  his  chest,  and  bowed  re 
spectfully. 

"  My  sister  need  not  be  alarmed,"  he 
said  in  a  gentle  and  insinuating  voice, 


"  it  is  a  friend  who  is  speaking  to  her." 

"  A  friend  !"  Dona  Clara  murmured, 
as  she  took  a  side-glance  at  him  j  "  the 
unfortunate  have  no  friends." 

The  Indian  drew  a  few  steps  nearer  to 
her,  and  went  on,  as  he  bent  over  her : 

"  The  jaguar  has  been  forced  to  put 
on  the  skin  of  the  crafty  serpent,  in 
order  to  introduce  himself  among  his 
enemies,  and  gain  their  confidence. 
Does  not  my  sister  recognize  me  V1 

The  Mexican  girl  reflected  for  a  mo 
ment,  and  then  answered  with  hesita 
tion,  and  looking  at  him  attentively  : 

"  Although  the  sound  of  your  voice  is 
not  unfamiliar  to  me,  I  seek  in  vain  to 
remember  where,  and  under  what  cir 
cumstances  I  have  already  seen  you." 

"  I  will  help  my  sister  to  remember," 
Eagle-wing,  continued.  "  Two  days  ago, 
at  the  passage  of  the  ford,  I  tried  to 
save  her,  and  was  on  the  point  of  suc 
ceeding,  but  before  that  my  sister  had 
seen  me  several  times." 

"  If  you  will  mention  a  date  and  a 
circumstance,  I  may  possibly  succeed  in 
remembering." 

"  My  sister  need  not  seek,  it  will  be 
useless ;  I  prefer  telling  her  my  name 
at  once,  for  moments  are  precious.  I 
am  Moukapec,  the  great  Chief  of  the 
Coras,  of  the  Del  Norte.  My  sister's 
father  and  my  sister  herself  often  helped 
the  poor  Indians  of  my  tribe." 

"  That  is  true,"  the  maiden  said,  sadly. 
"Oh!  I. remember  now.  Poor  people! 
they  were  pitilessly  massacred,  and  their 
village  fired  by  the  Apaches.  Oh !  I 
know  that  horrible  story." 

A  sardonic  smile  played  round  the 
chief's  lips  at  these  words. 

"Coyote  does  not  eat  coyote,"  he  said, 
in  a  hollow  voice ;  "  the  jaguars  do  not 
wage  war  on  jaguars.  They  were  not 
Indians  who  assassinated  the  Coras,  but 
scalp-hunters." 

"  Oh  !"  she  said,  in  horror. 

"  Let  my  sister  listen,"  the  Coras  con 
tinued  quickly ;  "  now  that  1  have  told 
her  my  name,  she  must  place  confidence 
in  me." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  eagerly,  "  for  I 
know  the  nobility  of  your  character." 

"  Thanks !  I  am  here  for  my  sister's 
sake  alone.  I  have  sworn  to  save  her, 
and  restore  her  to  her  father.'' 


42 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


"  Alas  !"  she  murmured  sadly,  "  that 
is  impossible.  You  are  alone,  and  we 
are  surrounded  by  enemies.  The  ban 
dits  who  guard  us  are  a  hundred-fold 
more  cruel  than  the  ferocious  beasts  of 
the  desert." 

"  I  do  not  know  yet  in  what  way  I 
shall  set  about  saving  my  sister,"  the 
chief  said,  firmly ;  "  but  I  shall  succeed 
if  she  is  willing." 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed  with  febrile 
energy,  "if  I  am  willing!  Whatever 
requires  to  be  done,  I  will  do  without 
hesitation.  My  courage  will  not  fail 
me,  be  assured  of  that,  chief." 

"  Good  !"  the  Indian  said  with  joy ; 
"  my  sister  is  truly  a  daughter  of  the 
Mexican  kings.  I  count  on  her  when 
the  moment  arrives.  Red  Cedar  is  ab 
sent  for  a  few  days ;  I  will  go  and  pre 
pare  everything  for  my  sister's  flight." 

"  Go,  chief;  at  the  first  sign  from  you 
I  shall  be  ready  to  follow  you." 

"  Good  !  I  retire ;  my  sister  can  take 
courage,  she  will  soon  be  free." 

The  Indian  bowed  to  the  maiden,  and 
prepared  to  leave  the  hut. 

Suddenly,  a  hand  was  laid  on  his 
shoulder. 

At  this  unexpected  touch,  in  spite  of 
his  self-command,  the  chief  could  not  re 
press  a  start  of  terror.  He  turned,  and 
Bed  Cedar's  daughter  stood  before  him, 
with  a  smile  on  her  lips. 

"  I  have  heard  all,"  she  said  in  her 
pure  and  melodious  voice. 

The  chief  bent  a  long  and  sad  look  on 
Dona  Clara. 

"  Why  this  emotion,"  Ellen  continued, 
"  which  I  read  on  your  features  ?  I  do 
not  mean  to  betray  you,  for  I  am  a 
friend  of  Dona  Clara.  Reassure  your 
self;  if  accident  has  made  me  mistress 
of  your  secret,  I  will  not  abuse  it — on 
the  contrary,  I  will  help  your  flight." 

"  Can  it  be  so  ?  You  would  do  that  ?" 
Dona  Clara  exclaimed,  as  she  threw  her 
arms  round  her  neck,  and  buried  her 
face  in  her  bosom. 

"  W  hy  not  ?"  she  simply  answered  ; 
"  you  are  my  friend." 

"  Oh !  oh !  I  love  you,  for  you  are 
good.  You  had  pity  on  my  grief,  and 
wept  with  me." 

Eagle-wing  fixed  on  the  maiden  a 
glance  of  undefinable  meaning. 


"  Listen,"  Ellen  said  ;  "I  will  supply 
you  with  the  means  you  lack.  We'll 
leave  the  camp  this  very  night." 

"We?"  Dona  Clara  asked;  "what 
do  you  mean1?" 

"  I  mean,"  Ellen  continued,  quickly, 
"  that  I  shall  go  with  you." 

"  Can  it  be  possible  ?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  in  a  melancholy 
voice  ;  "  I  cannot  remain  here  longer." 

On  hearing  these  words,  the  Coras 
Chief  quivered  with  joy  ;  a  sinister  ray 
flashed  from  his  dark  eyes ;  but  he  im 
mediately  resumed  his  stoical  appear 
ance,  and  the  maidens  did  not  notice  his 
emotion. 

"  But  what  shall  we  do  to  procure 
means  of  flight?" 

"  That  is  my  affair,  so  do  not  trouble 
yourself  about  it.  This  very  night,  I 
repeat,  we  shall  start." 

"  May  Heaven  grant  it !"  Dona  Clara 
sighed. 

Ellen  turned  to  the  chief  and  said  : 

"  Does  my  brother  know,  at  a  short 
distance  from  the  spot  where  we  now 
are,  any  Indian  pueblo  where  we  can 
seek  shelter  ?" 

"Two  suns  from  here,  in  a  north 
western  direction,  there  is  a  pueblo,  in 
habited  by  a  tribe  of  my  nation.  It  was 
thither  I  intended  to  lead  my  white 
father's  daughter  after  her  escape." 

"  And  we  shall  be  in  safetv  with  that 
tribe  ?" 

"  The  daughter  of  Acamarichtzin  will 
be  as  safe  as  in  her  father's  hacienda," 
the  Indian  answered,  evasively. 

"  Good !  Can  my  father  leave  the 
camp  r 

"  Who  is  strong  enough  to  arrest  the 
flight  of  the  condor  ?  Moukapec  is  a 
warrior,  nothing  stops  him." 

"  My  brother  will  set  out." 

"  Good  !" 

"  He  will  proceed  by  the  shortest 
road  to  the  pueblo  of  his  nation,  then 
he  will  return  to  meet  us  with  the  war 
riors  he  has  collected,  in  order  that  we 
may  defend  ourselves,  in  the  event  of 
being  followed  by  the  Gambusinos." 

"  Very  good,"  the  Indian  answered 
joyfully.  "  My  sister  is  young,  but 
wisdom  dwells  in  her  heart ;  I  will  do 
what  she  desires — when  may  I  start  ?" 

"  At  once." 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


43 


"  I  go.  What  hour  will  my  siste 
quit  the  camp  ?" 

"  At  the  hour  when  the  owl  sings  it: 
first  hymn  to  the  rising  sun." 

"  My  sister  will  meet  me  at  the  mos 
four   hours   after    her  departure.     She 
must  remember  in  her  flight  always  to 
go  in  a  north-western  direction.'7 

"  I  will  do  so." 

Eagle- wing  bowed  to  the  maidens  and 
lefl  the  cabin. 

The  gambusinos  were  in  a  deep 
sleep  round  the  fire ;  only  Dick  anc 
Harry  were  awake. 

The  Coras  glided  like  a  phantom 
through  the  trees,  and  reached  the  edg 
of  the  water  unnoticed,  which  was  the 
more  easy  to  effect,  because  the  Cana 
dians  were  not  watching  the  island 
from  which  they  had  no  danger  to  ap 
prehend,  but  had  their  eyes  fixed  or 
the  prairie. 

The  chief  took  off  his  clothes  and 
made  them  into  a  parcel,  which  he  fas 
tened  on  his  breast ;  he  slipped  into  the 
water,  ilhd  swam  silently  hi  the  direc 
tion  of  the  main  land. 

So  soon  as  the  Indian  left  the  cabin 
Ellen  bent  over  Dona  Clara,  gave  her  a 
loving  kiss  on  the  forehead,  and  said 
softly  : 

"  Try  to  sleep  for  a  few  hours,  while 
I  prepare  every  thing  for  our  flight." 

"  Sleep !"  the  Mexican  answered, 
"  how  can  I  with  the  restlessness  that 
devours  me." 

"  You  must !"  Ellen  insisted,  "  for 
we  shall  have  great  fatigue  to  endure 
to-morrow." 

"  Well,"  Dona  Clara  said,  softly,  "  I 
will  try,  as  you  wish  it." 

The  maidens  exchanged  a  kiss  and  a 
shake  of  the  hand,  and  Ellen  left  the 
hut  in  her  turn,  smiling  to  her  friend, 
who  followed  her  with  an  anxious 
glance. 

W  hen  left  alone,  Dona  Clara  fell  on 
her  knees,  clasped  her  hands,  and  ad 
dressed  a  fervent  prayer  to  God.  Then, 
slightly  tranquilized  by  her  appeal  to 
Him,  who  is  omnipotent,  she  fell  back 
on  the  pile  of  dry  leaves  that  served  as 
her  bed,  and,  as  she  had  promised  El 
len,  attempted  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

THE    FLIGHT. 

THE  night  covered  the  tranquil  des 
ert  with  its  dark  blue  sky,  studded  with 
dazzling  stars. 

A  majestic  silence  brooded  over  the 
prairie  ;  all  were  asleep  in  the  island 
save  the  two  Canadian  sentries,  who, 
leaning  on  their  rifles,  followed  with  ab 
sent  eye  the  tall  shadows  of  the  wild 
beasts  that  slowly  came  down  to  drink 
in  the  river. 

At  times  a  mysterious  quiver  ran 
over  the  trees,  and  shook  their  tufted 
crests,  whose  leaves  rustled  with  a 
strange  sound. 

Dick  and  Harry,  the  two  worthy 
hunters,  interchanged  a  few  words  in  a 
low  voice  to  while  away  the  tedium  of 
their  long  sentry  go,  to  which  they 
were  condemned,  when  suddenly  a 
white  shadow  glided  through  the  trees, 
and  Ellen  stood  by  their  side. 

The  young  men  started  on  seeing 
her;  but  the  maiden  greeted  them  with 
a  smile,  sat  down  on  the  grass,  and 
with  a  graceful  gesture  made  them  a 
sign  to  seat  themselves  by  her  side. 

They  hastened  to  obey  her. 

The  hunters  looked  at  the  maiden, 
who.  smiled  on  them  with  that  infan 
tile  grace  which  no  expression  can 
render. 

"  You  were  talking  when  I  came  up." 

"  Yes,"  Harry  answered,  "  we  were 
alking  of  you." 

"  Of  me  ?"  she  said. 

"  Was  it  not  for  your  sake  alone 
,hat  we  joined  this  troop  of  bandits  V9 
Dick  said,  in  an  ill-humored  tone 

*  Do  you  regret  being  here  ?"  she 
sked,  with  a  soft  smile. 

"/I  did  not  say  that,"  the  young 
nan  continued ;  "  but  we  are  not  in 
ur  place  among  these  villains.  We 
ire  free  and  loyal  hunters,  honorable 
^cod-rangers  j  the  life  we  lead  op- 
>resses  us." 

"  Were  you  not  talking  of  that 
yhen  my  presence  interrupted  you  ?" 

They  remained  silent. 

"  Answer  boldly !"  she  went  on. 
;  Good  heavens  I  you  know  that  such 


44 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


a  life  is  as  oppressive  to  me  as  it  is 
to  you." 

"  What  do  I  know  ?"  Harry  said. 
"  Many  times  I  have  proposed  to  you 
to  fly,  and  leave  these  men  whose 
hands  are  constantly  polluted  with 
blood,  but  you  have  ever  refused." 

"  That  is  true,"  she  said  sadly  ; 
"  alas !  although  these  men  are  crimi 
nal,  one  of  them  is  rny  father." 

"  For  two  years  that  we  have  been 
following  you  everywhere,  you  have 
given  us  the  same  answer." 

"  It  was  because  I  hoped  that  my 
father  and  brother  would  abandon 
this  career  of  crime." 

«  And  now  T 

"  I  have  no  hope  left." 

"  In  that  case  '*"  Harry  exclaimed 
sharply. 

"  I  am  ready  to  follow  you,"  she 
answered,  sharply. 

"  Is  that  ttie  truth  ?  is  it  your 
heart  that  is  speaking,  Ellen  ?  do  you 
really  consent  to  abandon  your  family 
and  trust  to  our  honor  ]" 

"  Listen,"  she  answered,  sorrowfully  ; 
"  for  two  years  I  have  thought  deeply, 
and  the  more  I  reflect  the  mure  does  it 
appear  to  me  that  Red  Cedar  is  not  my 
father." 

"  Can  it  be  possible  ?"  the  hunter  ex 
claimed,  in  amazement. 

"  I  can  say  nothing  certain ;  but 
when  I  go  back  I  fancy  (though  this  is 
vague  and  surrounded  by  shadows  in 
my  mind)  I  can  remember  another  ex 
istence,  very  different  from  the  one  I 
am  leading  at  present." 

"  You  can  remember  nothing  posi 
tive  ?" 

"  Nothing  :  I  see  pass,  as  in  a  vision, 
a  lovely  pale  lady,  a  man  with  a  proud 
glance,  and  of  tall  stature,  who  takes 
me  in  his  arms,  and  covers  me  with 
kisses,  and  then " 

"  Well,  and  then1?"  the  hunters  ex 
claimed,  in  a  panting  voice. 

"  And  then  I  see  flames,  blood,  and 
nothing  more,  but  a  man  carrying  me 
off  through  the  night  on  an  impetuous 
steed." 

The  maiden,  after  uttering  these 
words  in  a  broken  voice,  hid  her  head 
in  her  hands. 

There  was  a  lengthened  silence,  dur 


ing  which  the  Canadians  attentively  ob 
served  her  :  at  length  they  drew  them 
selves  up,  and  Harry  laid  his  hand  on. 
her  shoulder :  she  raised  her  head. 

"  What  would  you  of  me  ?"  she  said. 

"  Ask  you  a  question." 

"  Speak !" 

"  Since  you  have  grown  up  have  you 
never  tried  to  clear  up  your  doubts  by 
questioning  Red  Cedar  T' 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  once." 

"  Well  1" 

"  He  listened  to  me  attentively,  let 
me  say  all  I  had  to  say,  and  then  gave 
me  a  glance  of  undefinable  meaning, 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  answered, 
*  You  are  silly,  Ellen ;  you  must  have 
had  a  bad  dream.  That  story  is  ab 
surd.'  Then  he  added,  in  an  ironical 
voice,  '  I  feel  sorry  for  you,  poor  crea 
ture,  but  you  are  really  my  daughter.'  " 

"  Well,"  Dick  said,  in  a  tone  of  con 
viction,  as  he  struck  the  butt  of  his  rifle 
fiercely  on  the  ground,  "  I  tell  you  that 
he  lied,  and  that  man  is  not  your  lather." 

"  Doves  do  not  lay  their  eggs  in  the 
nests  of  vultures,"  Harry  added.  "  No, 
Ellen,  no,  you  are  not  that  man's  dau  "-li 
ter." 

The  maiden  rose,  seized  each  of  tho 
hunters  by  the  arm,  and,  after  looking 
at  them  for  a  moment,  said  : 

"  Well,  and  I  believe  so  too.  [  know 
not  why,  but  for  some  days  past  a  se 
cret  voice  has  cried  in  my  heart  and 
told  me  that  this  man  cannot  be  my 
father ;  that  is  why  I,  who,  up  to  this 
day,  have  always  refused  your  offers, 
have  come  to  trust  myself  to  your  hon 
or,  and  ask  you  if  you  will  protect  my 
flight." 

"  Ellen,"  Harry  answered  in  a  grave 
voice,  and  with  an  accent  full  of  re 
spect,  "  I  swear  to  you  before  that  God 
who  hears  us.  that  my  companion  and 
myself  will  risk  death  to  protect  or  de 
fend.  You  shall  always  be  a  sister  to 
us,  and  in  that  desert  we  are  about  to 
traverse  in  order  to  reach  civilized 
countries,  you  shall  be  as  safe  and 
treated  with  as  much  respect  as  if  you 
were  in  Quebec  Cathedral,  at  the  loot 
of  the  high  altar." 

"  I  swear  that  I  will  do  all  Harry  has 
just  said  ;  and  that  you  can,  in  all  con 
fidence,  place  yourself  under  the  safe- 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


45 


guard    of   our    honor,"    Dick    added 
raising  his  right  hand  to  Heaven. 

"  Thanks,  in}7  friends,"  the  maiden 
answered.  "  I  know  your  honor, 
accept  without  reservation,  persuadec 
as  I  am  that  you  will  fulfil  your  prom 
ise." 

The  two  men  bowed. 

"  When  shall  we  start  ?"  Harry 
asked. 

"  It  will  be  be  better  to  take  advan 
tage  of  Red  Cedar's  absence  to  fly,' 
said  Dick. 

"  That  thought  is  mine,  too/'  Ellen 
remarked,  but  added,  with  some  hesita 
tion,  "  1  should  not  like  to  fly  alone." 

"  Explain  yourself,"  Dick  said. 

"  It  is  needless,"  Harry  quickly  in 
terrupted  him.  "  I  know  what  you  de 
sire.  Your  thought  is  an  excellent  one, 
Ellen,  and  we  gladly  assent  to  it.  The 
young  Mexican  lady  can  accompany 
you.  If  it  be  possible  for  us  to  restore 
her  to  her  family,  who  must  feel  in  de 
spair  about  her,  we  will  do  it." 

Ellen  gave  the  young  man  a  look, 
and  slightly  blushed. 

"  You  are  a  noble-hearted  fellow, 
Harry,"  she  replied.  "  I  thank  you  for 
having  guessed  what  1  did  not  know 
how  to  ask  of  you." 

"  Is  there  anything  else  you  want  of 
us  ?"  ' 

"  No." 

"  Good !  then  bring  your  companion 
here  as  speedily  as  possible,  and,  when 
you  return,  we  shall  be  ready.  The 
garnbusinos  are  asleep.  Red  Cedar  is 
absent.  We  have  nought  to  fear,  but 
you  had  better  make  haste,  so  that  be 
fore  sunrise  we  may  be  far  enough  from 
here  not  to  fear  those  who  will  doubtless 
pursue  us  when  they  observe  your 
flight." 

"  I  only  ask  you  for  a^few  minutes," 
the  maiden  said,  and  soon  disappeared 
in  the  shrubs. 

In  vain  had  Dona  Clara  sought  sleep, 
in  obedience  to  her  friend's  recommenda 
tions.  Her  mind,  agitated  by  hopes  and 
fears,  had  not  allowed  her  to  enjoy  a 
moment's  rest.  With  eye  and  ear  on 
the  watch,  she  listened  to  the  voices  of 
the  night,  and  strove  to  distinguish,  in 
the  gloom,  the  shadows  that  at  times 
glided  through  the  trees.  i 

3 


Ellen  found  her  awake,  and  ready  to 
start. 

The  maidens'  preparations  for  flight 
were  not  lengthy,  for  they  only  took 
with  them  a  few  indisppnsable  articles. 

In  rummaging  an  old  box,  which  Red 
Cedar  and  his  family  employed  to  keep 
their  clothes  in,  Ellen  discovered  a  small 
coffer,  about  the  size  of  her  hand,  of 
carved  rosewood,  inlaid  with  silver, 
which  the  squatter  hardly  ever  left  out 
of  his  possession,  but  which  he  had  not 
thought  it  necessary  to  take  with  him 
on  the  present  expedition. 

The  maiden  examined  this  coffer  for 
a  moment,  but  it  was  closed.  By  an 
intuitive  movement,  for  which  she  could 
not  account,  but  which  completely  mas 
tered  her,  she  seized  it,  and  put  it  in  her 
bosom. 

"  Let  us  go,"  she  said  to  Dona  Clara. 

"  I  am  ready,"  the  young  Mexican  re 
plied,  laconically,  though  her  heart 
bounded. 

The  maidens  left  the  hut,  holding  each 
other's  hand.  They  crossed  the  clear 
ing,  and  proceeded  in  the  direction  of 
the  Canadians. 

The  gambusinos  lying  around  the  fire 
did  not  stir. 

They  were  all  fast  asleep. 

For  their  part,  the  two  hunters  had 
made  their  preparations  for  flight. 

While  Dick  fetched  out  to  the  river 
side  the  four  sturdiest  horses  he  could 
find,  Harry  collected  the  saddles  and 
bridles  of  the  other  horses,  and  threw 
them  into  the  river,  where  they  imme 
diately  disappeared  in  the  current. 

The  Canadian  had  reflected  that  the 
time  the  gambusinos  would  occupy  in 
making  up  their  loss  would  be  so  much 
gained  to  them. 

The  maidens  reached  the  river-bank 
at  the  moment  when  Dick  and  Harry- 
were  finishing  saddling  the  horses. 
They  mounted  at  once,  the  Canadians 
placed  themselves  at  their  side,  and  the 
:'ugitives  forced  their  horses  into  the 
river. 

Fortunately,  the  water  was  low ;  and 
lence,  although  the  current  was  rather 
powerful  in  the  centre,  the  horses  man- 
,ged  to  cross  the  Gila  without  obstacle. 

It  was  about  eleven  in  the  evening 
when  the  fugi  ives  lauded.  So  soon  a.i 


46 


THE    PIRATES    OP    THE    PRAIRIES. 


they  were  concealed  in  the  tall  grass,  so 
as  not  to  be  seen  from  the  island,  they 
drew  bridle  to  let  their  horses  breathe 
after  the  rude  passage  they  had  just 
made. 

"  Let  us  profit  by  the  hours  we  have 
before  us  to  travel  the  whole  night," 
Harry  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Our  absence  will  not  be  observed 
till  sunrise,"  Dick  observed.  "  The  time 
spent  in  seeking  us  on  the  island,  and 
in  providing  some  substitute  for  the 
bridles,  will  give  us  twelve  or  fourteen 
hours  which  we  must  profit  by  to  get 
away  as  far  as  possible." 

"  i  ask  nothing  better,"  Harry  said  ; 
"  but,  before  starting,  we  must  choose 
our  road." 

"  Oh  !"  Ellen  said,  "  the  direction  we 
must  follow  is  easily  settled  :  we  must 
only  go  straight  to  the  northwest." 

"  B  ;  it  so,"  the  hunter  went  on ;  "  one 
direction  is  as  good  as  another.  Our 
principal  object  is  to  get  off  as  soon  as 
possible :  but  why  northwest  rather 
than  any  other  quarter  of  the  wind  ?" 

Ellen  smiled. 

"  Because,"  she  said,  "  a  friend  you 
know — the  Indian  chief  who  formed  part 
of  the  band — left  the  camp  before  us,  in 
order  to  warn  his  warriors,  and  bring  us 
help  in  the  event  of  an  attack." 

"  Well  thought  of,"  the  hunter  said. 
"  Let  us  be  off,  and  not  spare  our  horses, 
fur  on  their  speed  our  safety  depends." 

Each  bowed  over  the  neck  of  the 
horses. 

The  little  party  started  with  the  speed 
of  an  arrow  in  a  northwestern  direction, 
as  had  been  agreed  on..  The  four  riders 
soon  disappeared  in  the  darkness ;  the 
footsteps  of  their  horses  ceased  to  re- 
fccho  on  the  hardened  ground,  and  all 
fell  back  into  silence. 

The  gambusinos  were  peacefully  sleep 
ing  on  the  island. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

THE    TEOCALI. 

WE  will  now  return  to  Valentine  and 
his  companions. 

The  six  horsemen  were  still  galloping 
in  the  direction  of  the  mountains;  and, 
about  midnight,  they  stopped  at  the  base 
of  an  enormous  granite  mass,  which  rose 
solitary  and  glowing  in  the  prairie. 

"  This  is  the  spot,"  said  Bioodson,  as 
he  dismounted. 

His  companions  followed  his  example, 
and  Valentine  took  a  scrutinizing  glance 
around. 

"If  what  I  suppose  be  true,"  he  said, 
"  your  dwelling  might  be  an  eagle  nest." 

"  Or  a  vulture's,"  the  stranger  hoarse 
ly  answered.  "  Wait  a  few  seconds." 

He  then  imitated  the  cry  of  the  tiger- 
serpent. 

Suddenly,  as  if  by  enchantment,  the 
mass  of  granite  was  illumined  from  top 
to  bottom,  and  torches,  shaken  by  vague 
and  indistinct  forms,  ran  rapidly  along 
the  slopes,  bounding  with  extreme  velo 
city  until  they  arrived  close  to  the  as 
tonished  travellers,  who  found  them 
selves  all  at  once  surrounded  by  some 
fifty  men  in  strange  garbs  and  with 
sinister  faces,  rendered  even  more  sinis 
ter  by  the  reflection  of  the  torches  which 
the  wind  drove  in  every  direction. 

"  These  are  my  men,"  the  stranger 
said,  laconically. 

"  Hum  !"  Valentine  remarked,  "  you 
have  a  formidable  army." 

"  Yes,"  Bloodson  went  on ;  "  for  ajl 
these   men   are   devoted   to   me.      On 
many  occasions,  I  have  put  their  attach- ' 
ment  to  rude  trials.    They  will  let  them 
selves  be  killed  at  a  signal  from  me." 

"  Oh,  ho  !"  the  hunter  went  on,  "  the 
man  who  can  speak  thus  is  very  strong, 
especially  if  he  wish  to  gain  an  honor 
able  end." 

The  stranger  made  no  answer,  but 
turned  his  head  away. 

"  Where  is  Shaw?"  he  asked. 

"  Here  I  am,  master,"  the  man  he  had 
asked  after  said  as  he  showed  himself. 

"  What !»  Valentine  exclaimed,  "  Red 
Cedar's  son !" 

"  Yes :  did  I  not  save  his  life  which 
his  brother  sought  to  take]  By  that 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


title  he  belongs  to  me.  Now,"  he  added 
"  come,  my  guests,  do  not  remain  any 
longer  outside.  1  will  show  you  rny  do 
main.  Shaw,  do  you  take  the  horses." 

The  travellers  followed  the  stranger, 
who,  preceded  by  several  torch-bearers, 
was  already  escalading  the  abrupt  sides 
of  the  granite  block. 

The  ascent  was  ruder  still.  It  was 
easy  to  recognize  the  steps  of  a  stair 
case,  beneath  the  roots,  creepers,  and 
brambles  that  overgrew  them. 

The  travellers  were  plunged  in  the 
utmost  astonishment. 

Valentine  and  Curumilla  alone  affect 
ed  an  indifference  which  caused  their 
host  to  ponder. 

When  about  one- third  up  the  moun 
tain,  Bloodson  stopped  before  an  exca 
vation  made  by  human  hands,  through 
whose  gaping  entrance  a  thread  of  light 
emerged. 

"  You  did  not,  perhaps,  expect,"  said 
Bloodson,  as  he  turned  to  his  friends, 
"  to  find  in  the  Far  West  a  keep  as 
strong  as  this." 

"  1  confess,  Don  Miguel,  that  I  did 
not  expect  it." 

"  Oh,  my  friends,  your  memory  fails 
you,  I  fancy,"  Valentine  said  with  a 
smile ;  "  this  mountain,  if  I  am  not 
mistaken,  is  nothing  but  a  Teocali." 

"  It  is  true,"  Bloodson  said,  with  an 
air  of  annoyance  he  tried  in  vain  to 
hide,  "  I  have  placed  my  abode  in  the 
interior  of  an  ancient  Teocali." 

"  There  are  a  good  many  about  here, 
history  relates  that  it  was  in  this  coun- 
t§y  the  Aztecs  assembled  before  finally 
invading  the  plateau  of  Anahuac." 

"  For  a  stranger,  Don  Valentine," 
Bloodson  remarked,  "  you  were  well 
acquainted  with  the  history  of  this 
country." 

"  And  with  that  of  its  inhabitants ; 
yes,  Senor  Caballero,"  the  hunter  re 
plied. 

They  went  in,  and  found  themselves 
in  an  immense  hall,  with  white  walls, 
loaded  with  sculpture,  which,  as  Valen 
tine  had  stated,  must  date  back  to  the 
epoch  of  the  Aztecs. 

A  great  number  of  torches,  fixed  in 
iron  sockets,  spread  a  tairy-like  1  ght 
over  this  hall. 

Bloodson    did    the    honors    of   this 


strange  abode,  as  a  man  perfectly 
ed  in  the  habits  of  civilized  life. 

A  few  minutes  after  their  arrival,  the 
hunters  enjoyed  a  meal  which,  though 
served  in  the  desert,  left  nothing  to  be 
desired  as  regarded  the  delicacy  of  the 
dishes  or  the  order  in  which  it  was 
served. 

The  sight  of  Shaw  had  involuntarily 
inspired  Valentine  with  a  secret  distrust 
of  their  host ;  the  latter,  with  the  pen 
etration  and  knowledge  of  mankind  he 
possessed,  at  once  noticed  it,  and  resolv 
ed  to  get  rid  of  it  by  a  frank  explana 
tion  between  the  hunter  and  himself. 

As  for  Curumilla,  the  worthy  Indian 
ate  with  good  appetite,  as  was  his  wont, 
not  uttering  a  word,  though  he  did  not 
lose  a  syllable  of  what  was  said  around 
him,  and  his  piercing  eye  had  already 
scrutinized  the  most  secret  nooks  of 
the  spot  where  he  was. 

When  the  supper  was  ended,  Blood- 
son  gave  a  signal,  and  his  comrades  sud 
denly  disappeared  at  the  end  of  the 
hall,  where  they  stretched  themselves 
on  piles  of  dry  leaves  which  served 
them  as  beds. 

The  hunters  remained  alone  with 
their  host,  and  at  a  sign  from  the  latter, 
Shaw  took  a  place  by  his  side. 

For  some  time  they  smoked  in  sil 
ence,  until  Bloodson  threw  far  from 
him  the  end  of  the  cigarette  he  had  been 
smoking,  and  took  the  word. 

"  Senores  Caballeros,"  he  said,  with 
a  tone  of  frankness  that  pleased  his 
hearers,  "  all  that  you  see  here  may 
reasonably  surprise  you,  I  allow.  Still, 
nothing  is  more  simple  ;  the  men  you 
have  seen  belong  to  all  the  Indian 
tribes  that  traverse  the  desert  ;  only 
one  of  them  is  a  white  man,  and  that  is 
Shaw.  If  Don  Pablo  will  be  kind 
enough  to  reflect,  he  will  tell  you  that 
the  man  found  in  the  streets  of  Santa 
Fe  with  a  knife  in  his  chest  was  saved 
by  me." 

"  In  truth,"  the  young  man  said, 
"  Father  Seraphin  and  myself  picked 
up  the  poor  wretch,  who  gave  no  sign 
of  life.  You  only  could  recall  him  to 
existence." 

"  All  the  others  are  in  the  same  case; 
proscribed  by  tribes,  menaced  with  in 
stant  death  by  their  enemies,  they  have 


48 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


sought  a  refuge  with  me.  There  is  now 
another  point,  I  desire  to  clear  up,  in 
order  that  no  cloud  may  exist  between 
us,  and  that  you  may  place  tiie  most 
perfect  confidence  in  me." 

His  hearers  bowed  respectfully. 

"  For  what  good  ?"  Valentine  said  ; 
"every  man  in  this  world  has  his  secret, 
Caballero,  and  we  do  not  ask  for  yours. 
We  are  connected  by  the  strongest 
bond  that  can  attach  men,  a  common 
hatred  for  the  same  individual,  and  the 
desire  to  take  a  striking  revenge  on 
him — what  more  do  we  want?" 

"  Pardon  me,  in  the  desert,  as  in  the 
civilized  life  of  towns,"  Bloodson  said 
with  dignity,  "  men  like  to  know  those 
with  whom  accident  has  brought  them 
into  relationship.  I  am  anxious  you 
should  know  that  the  force  I  have  at 
my  service,  and  which  is  really  formid 
able,  Don  Valentine,  as  you  were  good 
enough  to  observe,  is  employed  by  me 
to  act  as  the  police  of  the  desert ;  re 
pulsed  by  the  world,  I  resolved  to  re 
venge  myself  on  it  by  pursuing  and  de 
stroying  those  pirates  of  the  prairies 
who  attack  and  plunder  the  caravans 
that  cross  the  desert.  It  is  a  rude  task 
I  have  undertaken,  I  assure  you,  for  the 
villainies  are  numerous  in  the  Far 
West,  but  I  wage  an  obstinate  war  on 
them,  and  so  long  as  Heaven  permits, 
I  will  carry  it  on  without  truce  or  mer- 
cy." 

"  I  have  already  heard  what  you  say 
spoken  of,"  Valentine  replied,  .as  he 
held  out  his  hand  sympathizingly  ;  "the 
man  who  thus  comprehends  his  mis 
sion  on  earth  must  be  one  in  a  thous 
and,  and  1  shall  ever  be  happy  to  be 
counted  in  the  number  of  his  friends." 

"Thanks,"  Bloodson  answered  with 
emotion,  "thanks  for  your  remark, 
which  compensates  me  for  many  insults 
and  much  miscomprehension.  And 
now,  Caballeros,  I  place  at  your  dispos 
al  the  men  who  are  devoted  to  me ; 
do  with  them  whatever  you  please,  and 
J  will  be  the  first  to  offer  the  example 
of  obedience." 

"  Listen,"  Valentine  replied,  after  a 
moment's  reflection  ;  "  we  have  to  deal 
with  a  thorough-paced  villain,  whose 
principal  weapon  is  cunning,  and  we 


shall  only  succeed  in  conquering  him 
by  employing  the  same.  A  considera 
ble  party  is  soon  tracked  on  the  prai 
rie  ;  Red  Cedar  has  the  eye  of  a  vulture 
and  the  scent  of  a  dog  ;  the  more  we 
are,  the  less  chance  we  have  of  catching 
him." 

"  What  is  to  be  done  then,  mjr 
friend  ?"  Don  Miguel  asked. 

"This,"  Valentine  went  on:  "  sur 
round  him,  that  is  to  say,  enclose  him 
in  a  circle  whence  he  cannot  emerge, 
by  securing  allies  among  all  the  desert 
Indians;  but  it  is  understood  that  these 
allies  will  act  seperately,  until  we  have 
so  well  succeeded  in  tracking  the  vil 
lain  that  he  must  surrender." 

"  Yes,  your  idea  is  good,  though  dif 
ficult  and  dangerous  in  its  execution." 

"  Not  so  much  as  you  suppose,"  Val 
entine  responded  warmly.  "  Listen  to 
me  :  to-morrow,  at  day- break,  Curumil- 
la  and  myself  will  go  in  search  of  Red 
Cedar's  trail,  and  1  swear  to  you  that 
we  shall  find  it  again." 

"Good,"  said  Don  Miguel;  "and 
afterwards  ?" 

"  Wait ;  while  one  of  us  remains  to 
watch  the  bandit,  the  other  will  return, 
to  warn  you  of  the  spot  where  he  is. 
During  that  time  you  will  have  formed 
alliances  with  the  Pueblos  Indians,  and 
be  in  a  condition  to  force  the  boar  in  its 
lair." 

"Yes,"  Bloodson  remarked,  "that 
plan  is  simple,  and  for  that  very  reason 
must  succeed.  It  is  a  struggle  of  cun 
ning,  that  is  all." 

"  Yes,"  General  Ibanez  objected^; 
"  but  why  should  we  not  go  on  his  trail 
also?" 

"  Because,"  Valentine  answered, 
"though  you  are  as  brave  as  your  sword, 
general,  you  are  a  soldier — that  is  to 
say,  you  understand  nothing  of  the  In 
dian  warfare  we  are  about  to  carry  on, 
a  war  composed  entirely  of  ambushes 
and  treachery.  You  and  our  friends,  in 
spite  of  your  well-known  courage,  and  I 
might  almost  say,  on  account  of  it,  would 
prove  more  injurious  than  useful,  owing 
to  your  ignorance  of  the  country  in 
which  we  are,  and  the  manners  of  the 
men  we  have  to  fight."  * 

"That  is  true,"  Don   Miguel   said; 


THE    PIRATES    OP    THE    PRAIRIES. 


"  our  friend  is  in  the  right,  leave  him  t< 
act ;  I  am  convinced  that  he  will  sue 
ceed." 

"  And  so  am  I,"  Valentine  exclaimed 
with  an  accent  of  conviction ;  "  that  i 
why  I  wish  to  be  free,  so  that  I  may  ac 
as  I  please." 

"  In  short,"  the  general  went  on,  "  in 
a  game  so  serious  as  that  we  are  playing 
with  men  so  clever  and  determined  as 
those  we  have  to  fight  with,  nothing 
must  be  left  to  accident.  I  resign  my 
self  to  inaction  ;  carry  oufl  your  schemes 
as  you  think  proper,  Don  Valentine." 

11  Pardon  me,"  Don  Pablo  exclaimed 
hotly.  "  My  father  and  you  may  con 
sent  to  remain  here,  for  I  can  under 
stand  that  your  age  and  habits  render 
you  but  little  fitting  for  the  life  you 
would  be  obliged  to  lead  ;  but  I  am  go 
ing.  I  am  strong,  able  to  stand  fatigue, 
and  long  accustomed  by  Valentine  him 
self  to  the  terrible  demands  of  the  de 
sert  life  you  are  ignorant  of.  My  sis 
ter's  safety  is  at  stake:  we  wish  to 
rescue  her  from  the  hands  of  her  ravish- 
ers ;  and  hence  I  must  join  the  men  who 
are  going  in  search  of  her." 

Valentine  gave  him  a  glance  full  of 
tenderness. 

"Be  it  so,"  he  said  to  him.  "You 
will  come  with  us,  Pablo :  this  will 
complete  your  initiation  into  desert 
life." 

"Thanks,  my  friend,  thanks,"  the 
young  man  said  gladly.  "  You  have 
removed  an  immense  weight  from  my 
heart.  Poor  sister  !  I  shall  co-operate, 
then,  in  her  deliverance  !" 

"  There  is  another  man  you  must  take 
with  you,  Don  Valentine,"  Bloodson 
said. 

"  Why  so?"  Valentine  asked. 

"  Because,"  the  other  answered,  "as 
soon  as  you  have  departed,  I  shall  go 
and  visit  the  Indian  villages  :  when  the 
moment  arrives,  we  must  know  where 
to  meet." 

"  Yes,  but  how  is  it  to  be  managed  ?" 

"Shaw  will  accompany  you." 

A  flash  of  joy  passed  into  the  young 
man's  eye,  although  his  face  remained 
unmoved. 

"  So  soon  as  you  have  found  the  trail, 
Shaw,  who  knows  my  hiding-places,  will 


be  sent  off  by  you  to  advise  me,  and  he 
will  find  me,  wherever  I  may  be." 

"  Yes,"  the  squatter's  son  said,  lacon 
ically. 

Valentine  examined  him  for  a  mo 
ment  attentively,  and  then  turned  to 
Bloodson : 

"  Be  it  so,"  he  said  ;  "  he  shall  come. 
I  am  greatly  mistaken,  or  this  young 
man  has  a  greater  interest  than  we  sup 
pose  in  the  success  of  our  plans;  and 
we  can  trust  entirely  to  him." 

Shaw  lowered  his  eyes  with  a  blush. 

"  And  now,"  Bloodson  said,  "  it  is 
late :  we  have  hardly  four  hours  of 
night  left.  I  believe  that  we  have  come 
to  a  perfect  understanding,  and  that  we 
shall  do  well  to  sleep.  We  do  not 
know  what  the  morrow  reserves  for  us." 

"  Yes,  let  us  sleep,"  Valentine  said, 
"for  I  intend  starting  at  sunrise." 

"  Will  your  horses  be  rested  ?" 

"  Let  them  rest,  for  we  do  not  want 
them ;  a  trail  can  only  be  properly  fol 
lowed  on  foot." 

"  You  are  right ;  a  man  on  foot  can 
pass  anywhere." 

After  exchanging  a  few  more  words, 
ach  rose  to  go  and  throw  himself  on  a 
pile  of  dry  leaves. 

Don  Miguel  seized  Valentine's  arm 
and  clutched  it  firmly,  as  he  said,  with 
tears  in  his  eyes : 

"  Friend,  restore  me  my  daughter." 

"  I  will  do  so,"  the  hunter  said,  with 
emotion,  "  or  die." 

The  haciendero  went  away  a  few  paces, 
but  then  hurriedly  returned  to  the 
Frenchman's  side. 

"  Watch  over  my  son,"  he  said  in  a 
choking  voice. 

"  Do  not  be  alarmed,  my  friend," 
the  hunter  answered. 

Don  Miguel  warmly  pressed  the  hun- 
,er's  hand,  uttered  a  sigh,  and  retired. 

A  few  moments  later,  and  all  were 
sound  asleep   in   the  Teocali,  with  the 
xccption  of  the   sentries  that  watched 
L»ver  the  common  safety. 


50 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


CHAPTER    X. 

THE       WHITE       GAZELLE. 

RED  CEDAR'S  proposition  was  too  ad 
vantageous  for  the  Pirates  to  hesitate 
about  accepting  it. 

This  was  the  reason  : 

For  some  years  past  a  man  had  ap 
peared  on  the  prairies,  at  the  head  of 
fifty  or  sixty  determined  companions, 
and  had  waged  such  a  rude  war  on  the 
adventurers  or  pirates,  that  it  had  be 
come  almost  impossible  to  carry  on 
their  old  trade  with  impunity. 

On  his  private  authority,  this  man 
had  constituted  himself  the  defender  of 
the  caravans  that  crossed  the  desert, 
and  protector  of  the  trappers  and  hun 
ters,  whom  they  no  longer  dared  plun 
der,  through  fear  of  being  attacked  by 
this  unknown  redressor  of  grievances. 

This  existence  was  growing  insup 
portable,  and  an  end  must  be  put  to  it. 
Unfortunately  the  means  had  hitherto 
failed  the  Pirates  to  deal  a  heavy  blow, 
and  free  themselves  from  the  crushing 
yoke  Bloodson  bowed  them  under. 
Hence  they  did  not  hesitate,  as  we  have 
seen,  to  accept  Red  Cedar's  proposition. 

These  men  had  been  acquainted  with 
the  bandit  for  several  years  :  he  had, 
indeed,  been  their  chief  for  some  time ; 
but  at  that  period  they  were  still  civiliz 
ed  brigands,  if  we  may  employ  that  ex 
pression  when  speaking  of  such  fellows, 
prowling  along  the  frontiers  of  the 
American  Union,  assaulting  isolated 
farms,  and  plundering  and  killing  the 
defenceless  inhabitants. 

This  band,  which  was  at  that  time 
composed  of  about  fifty,  was  gradually 
driven  back  on  the  desert,  where  Blood- 
son,  who  hunted  them  like  wild  beasts, 
had  decimated  them  so  thoroughly  in 
many  a  fight,  that  the  band,  now  reduc 
ed  to  only  ten  persons,  was  literally  at 
bay,  and  compelled  to  live  on  the  pro 
duce  of  the  chace,  or  the  rare  occasions 
for  plunder  offered  by  isolated  travel 
lers,  whom  their  unlucky  star  brought 
into  the  vicinity  of  the  Pirates'  lair. 

As  they  were  perfectly  concealed  by 
the  Indian  garb  they  wore,  the  few 
travellers  who  escaped  them  fancied 
they  had  been  plundered  by  redskins. 


This  disguise  caused  their  security,  and 
allowed  them  to  go  at  times  and  sell 
the  produce  of  their  plunder  in  the  sea 
port  towns. 

We  have  said  that  the  bandit  band 
was  composed  of  ten  men,  but  we  were 
incorrect ;  for  one  of  them  was  a  wo 
man. 

There  was  a  strange  anomaly  in  this 
creature,  scarce  twenty  years  of  age, 
with  delicate  features,  a  tall  and  lithe 
form,  living  among  these  ruffians  whom 
she  ruled  over  with  all  the  force  of  a 
vast  mind,  indomitable  courage,  and 
an  iron  will. 

The  brigands  had  a  superstitious  ado 
ration  for  her  which  they  could  not  ex 
actly  account  for;  obeying  her  slightest 
caprices  without  a  murmur,  and  ready 
to  let  themselves  be  killed  at  the  least 
sign  from  her  rosy  fingers. 

She  was,  as  it  were,  their  palladium. 
The  girl  was  perfectly  well  aware  of 
the  uncontrolled  power  she  exercised 
over  her  terrible  guardians,  and  abused 
it  constantly,  while  they  never  attempt 
ed  resistance. 

The  Indians  themselves,  seduced  by 
the  grace,  vivacity,  and  sympathetic 
charms  of  the  young  creature,  had 
christened  her  the  White  Gazelle  ;  a 
name  harmonizing  so  well  with  her 
character,  that  she  was  known  by  no 
other. 

She  wore  a  fanciful  costume  of  extra 
ordinary  wildness  and  eccentricity, 
which  was  admirably  suited  to  the  geti- 
le,  though  decided,  and  slightly  dreamy 
expression  of  her  face. 

It  was  composed  of  loose  Turkish 
trowsers,  made  of  Indian  cashmere, 
fastened  at  the  knees  with  diamond  gar 
ters  ;  while  boots  of  stamped  deer-hide 
protected  her  leg,  and  imprisoned  her 
ittle  foot.  To  her  heels  were  fastened 
leavy  gold  Mexican  spurs ;  double- 
3arrelled  pistols  and  a  dagger  were 
massed  through  her  China  crape  girdle, 
which  confined  her  delicate  waist.  A 
acket  of  violet  velvet,  buttoned  .  o^yer 
he  bosom  with  a  profusion  of  dia- 
nonds,  displayed  her  exquisite  bust. 
A  brilliant-hued  Navajoe  zarape,  fasten- 
d  at  the  neck  with  a  clasp  of  rubies, 
served  as  her  cloak,  and  a  Panama  hat 
of  extreme  fineness  (doble  paja),  deco- 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


51 


rated  with  an  eagle-plume,  covered  her 
head,  while  allowing  tresses  of  jet 
black  hair  to  fall  in  disorder  on  her 
neck,  and  which,  had  they  not  been 
bound  by  a  ribbon,  would  have  trail 
ed  on  the  ground. 

This  girl  was  asleep  when  Red 
Cedar  entered  the  cavern,  and  the 
pirates  were  accustomed  to  do  noth 
ing  without  her  assent. 

"  Red  Cedar  is  a  man  in  whom  we 
can  place  entire  confidence,"  Pedro 
Sandoval  said,  as  he  summed  up  the 
affair,  "  but  we  cannot  give  him  an 
swer  till  we  have  consulted  the  nina" 

"That  is  true,"  a  second  confirmed 
him — "  hence,  as  any  discussion  will 
useless,  I  think  the  best  thing  we  can 
do,  is  to  follow  Red  Cedar's  example, 
and  go  to  rest." 

"  Powerfully  reasoned,"  said  one  of 
the  bandits,  called  Orson ;  a  little  man 
with  ignoble  features,  grev  eyes,  and 
a  mouth  extending  from  ear  to  ear, 
while  laughing  so  as  to  display  two 
rows  of  white  teeth,  wide  and  sharp 
as  those  of  a  wild  beast ;  "  so  shall  I 
aay  good-night." 

The  other  Pirates  did  the  same,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  the  deepest  silence 
prevailed  in  the  grotto,  whose  inhabit 
ants,  secure  in  the  strength  of  their  po 
sition,  slept  peacefully. 

At  daybreak  Red  Cedar  opened  his 
eyes,  and  rose  from  the  hard  bed  on 
which  he  had  rested,  in  order  to  stretch 
his  limbs,  and  restore  the  circulation  of 
the  blood. 

"  Up  already  !"  Sandoval  said,  as  he 
emerged,  cigarette  in  mouth,  from  one 
of  the  sleeping  cells. 

"  My  bed  was  not  so  attractive  as  to 
keep  me  longer,"  Red  Cedar  answered 
with  a  smile. 

"  Bah  !"  the  other  said,  "'tis  the  for 
tune  of  war  ;  therefore  1  do  not  com 
plain  about  it :"  the  squatter  continued, 
drawing  his  comrade  to  the' entrance  of 
the  grotto.  "  And  now,  gossip,  answer 
me,  if  you  please  ;  what  do  you  think 
of  my  proposal  1  You  have  had  time 
for  reflection,  I  suppose  ?' 

"  Cascaras ! — it  did  not  require 
much  reflection  to  see  that  it  was  a 
good  bargain."  I 


is 

we 
submit    the    question    to    the 

did  not  think  of 


"  You  accept,"  Red  Cedar  said,  with 
a  movement  of  joy. 

"  If  I  wore  to  be  master,  T  should  nob 
make  the  slightest  difficulty,  but 

"  Hang  it,  there  is  a  but." 

"  You  know  very  well  there  always 
is  one." 

"  That  is  true ;  and  what  is  the 
but  r 

"  Oh,  less  than   nothing ;    we   must 
merely 
Nina." 

"  That  is  true  :  I 
that." 

"  You  see  now." 

"  Gristo  !     She  will  accept." 

"  I  am  certain  of  it.  Still,  we  musk 
lay  it  before  her." 

"Of  course.  Stay,  comrade,  I  pre 
fer  you  should  undertake  it :  while  you 
are  doing  it,  I  will  go  and  kill  some 
game  for  breakfast.  Does  that  suit 
you  ?" 

"  Very  well." 

"  Good-bye  for  the  present,  then." 

Red  Cedar  threw  his  rifle  over  his 
shoulder  and  left  the  grotto,  whistling 
to  his  dog. 

Sandoval,  when  left  alone,  prepared 
to  discharge  his  commission,  while  say 
ing  to  himself  in  an  aside  : 

"  That  devil  of  a  Red  Cedar  is  al 
ways  the  same,  as  timid  as  he  used  tu 
be  :  that  results  from  not  having  been 
used  to  the  society  of  ladies. 

"  Good  morning,  Sandoval,"  a  gentle 
and  melodious  voice  breathed  in  his  ear. 

And  the  White  Gazelle  tapped  the 
shoulder  of  the  old  bandit,  while  smil 
ing  kindly  on  him. 

The  girl  was  really  a  ravishing  crea 
ture.  She  wore  the  costume  we  just 
now  described ;  but  she  held  in  her 
hand  a  rifle,  damascened  with  silver. 

Sandoval  gazed  on  her  for  a  moment 
with  profound  admiration,  and  then  an 
swered  in  a  trembling  voice  : 

"Good  morning,  child;  did  you 
lave  a  good  night  '¥' 

"  I  could  not  have  had  a  better ;  I 
eel  in  glorious  spirits  this  morning." 

"Ail  the  better,  dear  girl,  all  the 
better  ;  for  I  have  to  present  to  you  an 
old  comrade,  who  ardently  desires  to 
see  you  again." 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


"  I  know  whom  you  are  alluding  to, 
father,"  the  girl  replied.  "  1  was  not 
asleep  last  night  when  he  arrived,  and 
even  supposing  I  had  been  so  the  noise 
you  made  would  have  awakened  me." 

"You  heard  our  conversation,  theu  T' 

"  From  one  end  to  the  other." 

"  And  what  is  your  advice  ?" 

"  Before  answering,  tell  me  who  are 
the  people  we  are  to  attack." 

"  Do  you  not  know  ?" 

"  No  ;  since  I  ask  you." 

"  Hang  it  ;  they  are  Americans,  I  be 
lieve." 

"  But  what  sort  of  Americans  ?  Are 
they  Gringos  or  Gachupinos  T' 

"  I  did  not  inquire  into  such  details  ; 
to  me  all  Americans  are  alike  ;  and 
provided  they  are  attacked,  I  ask  for 
nothiyg  more." 

"That  is  possible,  old  father,"  the  girl 
answered,  with  a  little  pout  ;  "  but  I 
make  a  grand  difference  bet  ween  them." 

"  I  do  not  exactly  see  the  use  of  it." 

"  I  am  free  to  think  as  I  please,  I  sup 
pose,"  she  interrupted  him,  as  she 
stamped  her  foot  impatiently, 

"  Yes,  my  child,  yes — do  not  be  an 
gry,  1  entreat  you." 

V  "  Very  good  ;  but  pay  attention  to 
what  1  am  going  to  tell  you.  Red  Ce 
dar  is  a  man  on  whom  I  do  not  put  the 
slightest  trust.  He  is  ever  accustomed 
to  pursue  a  gloomy  object,  which  es 
capes  his  partners  ;  they  only  serve 
him  as  a  cat's  paw  in  all  his  underta 
kings;  and  he  abandons  them  unblush- 
ingly  so  soon  as  they  are  of  no  further 
use  to  him.  The  affair  Red  Cedar  pro 
poses  to  you  is  magnificent  at  the  first 
glance  ;  but,  on  reflecting,  far  from  of 
fering  us  profits,  it  may  bring  a  multi 
tude  of  annoyances  on  us,  and  bring 
us  into  a  wasp's  nest,  whence  we  can 
not  emerge." 

"Then,  your  opinion  is  to  decline1?" 

"  I  do  not  say  that ;  but  I  wish  to 
know  what  you  intend  doing,  and  what 
our  chances  of  success  are  ?" 

During  this  conversation,  the  other 
bandits  had  left  their  cells  and  ranged 
themselves  round  the  speakers,  whose 
discussion  they  followed  with  the  deep 
est  interest. 

"  On  my  word,  my  dear  child,  I  do 
not  know  what  answer  to  make  you. 


Last  evening  Red  Cedar  spoke  to  me  of 
the  affair,  and  it  appeared  to  us  grand  ; 
but  if  it  does  not  please  you  we  will 
give  it  up.  We  will  not  mention  it 
again  ;  and  that's  all  about  it." 

"  That  is  how  you  always  are,  San- 
doval ;  it  is  impossible  to  discuss  any 
point  with  you.  At  the  slightest  objec 
tion  offered  you  flare  up,  and  will  not 
listen  to  the  reasons  which  may  be  giv 
en  to  you." 

"  I  am  not  so,  my  child  ;  I  only 
state  facts.  However,  here  is  Red  Ce 
dar  ;  have  it  ouUwith  him." 

"That  will  not  take  long,"  the  girl 
answered  ;  and  turning  to  the  squatter, 
who  entered  the  grotto,  bearing  on  his 
shoulders  a  magnificent  elk  he  had  shot, 
and  which  he  threw  on  the  ground,  she 
said  : 

"  Answer  me  a  single  question,  Red 
Cedar." 

"  Twenty,  if  it  be  agreeable  to  you, 
charming  Gazelle,"  the  bandit  said, with 
a  constrained  smile,  which  rendered 
him  hideous. 

"No,  one  will  be  sufficient.  Who 
are  the  people  you  are  engaged  with?" 

"  A  Mexican  family." 

"  I  want  to  know  their  name." 

"  I  will  tell  it  you.  It  is  the  Zarate 
family,  one  of  the  most  influential  in 
New  Mexico." 

At  this  answer  a  vivid  flush  ran  over 
the  girl's  face,  and  she  displayed  marks 
of  profound  emotion. 

"1  also  propose,"  the  bandit  contin 
ued,  whose  notice  this  flush  had  not  es 
caped,    "  to    finish    with    that    demon, 
Bl«^odson,  on  whom  we  have  so  many- 
insults  to  avenge." 

"  Good !"  she  said  with  increasing 
emotion. 

The  astounded  brigands  gazed  anx 
iously  on  the  girl. 

At  length,  by  a  violent  effort,  the  Ga 
zelle  succeeded  in  re-assuming  an  air  of 
coolness  ;  and,  addressing  the  Pirates, 
said  to  them,  in  a  voice  whose  accent 
revealed  a  great  internal  agitation  : 

"  That  entirely  changes  the  question* 
Bloodson  is  our  most  cruel  enemy.  If 
1  had  known  that  at  first,  I  should  not 
have  opposed  the  enterprise  as  I  did." 

"  So,"  Sandoval  ventured  %to  inter 
rupt. 


THE    PIRATES    OP    THE    PRAIRIES. 


"  I  consider  the  idea  excellent ;  and 
the  sooner  we  put  it  in  execution,  the 
better." 

"Very  good,"  Red  Cedar  exclaimed. 
"  I  felt  sure  that  the  Nina  would  sup 
port  me." 

The  Gazelle  smiled  on  him. 

"  Who  ever  could  understand  wom 
en  T'  Sandoval  muttered  in  his  mous 
tache. 

"  Now,"  the  young  girl  added,  with 
extraordinary  animation,  "let  us  hasten 
to  make  our  preparations  for  departure, 
as  we  have  not  an  instant  to  lose." 

"  Caspita  !  I  am  glad  we  are  going 
to  do  something  at  last,"  said  Orson,  as 
he  prepared  to  cut  up  the  elk  brought 
in  by  Red  Cedar  :  "  we  were  beginning 
to  moulder  in  this  damp  hole." 

"  Leonard,"  Sandoval  said,  "  look  af 
ter  the  horses  ;  fetch  them  from  the 
corral,  and  bring  them  to  the  subterra 
neous  passage." 

"  Hang  it  all,"  said  Red  Cedar  ; 
"  talking  about  horses,  I  haven't  one." 

"  That  is  true,"  Sandoval  replied  ; 
"  you  arrived  oh  foot  yesterday  ;  but  I 
fancied  you  had  left  your  horse  in  the 
chapparal." 

"  No,  it  was  killed  in  an  ambuscade, 
where  I  all  but  left  my  hide.  Since 
then,  my  dog  has  carried  the  saddle." 

"We  have  more  horses  than  we 
want,  so  Leonard  shall  bring  one  to 
you." 

"  Thanks,  I  will  make  it  up  to  you." 

Leonard  and  another  bandit  collected 
the  harness  and  went  off. 

When  the  meal  was  finished,  which 
did  not  take  long,  as  the  Pirates  were 
anxious  to  start,  the  separations  forming 
the  rooms  were  taken  down,  and  two  or 
three  Pirates,  arming  themselves  with 
powerful  levers,  moved  an  enormous 
rock,  under  which  was  the  hole,  serving 
as  cache  to  the  band,  when  obliged  to 
leave  its  den  temporarily.  In  this  hole 
they  placed  any  objects  of  value  which 
the  grotto  contained,  and  the  rock  was 
then  returned  to  its  place. 

This  duty  accomplished,  Sandoval 
shouted  as  he  proceeded  to  the  mouth 
of  the  grotto : 

"  Some  men  to  help." 

At  a  sign  from  Sandoval,  half-a-dozen 
men  seized  the  eud  of  a  tree  serving  as 


a  bridge,  lifted  it,  balanced  it  for  a  mo 
ment  in  the  air,  and  hurled  it  into  the 
precipice,  down  which  it  rolled,  with  a 
sound  resembling  the  discharge  of  a 
park  of  artillery. 

The  exterior  of  the  grotto  was  then 
covered  with  shrubs,  in  order  to  conceal 
it  as  far  as  possible. 

"Ouf,"  Sandoval  said,  "  at  present  all 
is  in  order ;  we  will  start  when  you 
please." 

"  At  once  !"  the  girl  said,  who  seem 
ed  a  prey  to  a  great  impatience,  and 
who  during  all  these  lengthened  prepa 
rations  had  not  ceased  to,  scold  the  Pi 
rates  for  their  delay. 

The  band  entered  the  passage  without 
further  delay  ;  and,  after  a  march  of 
about  half-an-hour,  entered  a  ravine, 
where  the  horses,  under  the  guard  of  a 
Pirate,  were  nibbling  the  pea  vines  and 
young  tree  shoots. 

All  mounted. 

The  White  Gazelle  allowed  her  com 
rades  to  pass,  and  managed  to  remain  a 
little  in  the  rear.  Then,  approaching 
Red  Cedar,  she  looked  at  him  in  a  pe 
culiar  way,  and  laid  her  dainty  hand  on 
his  shoulder. 

"  Tell  me,  scalp-hunter,"  she  mutter 
ed,  in  a  low  and  concentrated  voice,  "  it 
is  really  Don  Miguel  de  Zarate,  the 
father  of  Don  Pablo,  whom  you  wish  to 
crush  T 

"  Yes,  senorita,"  the  squatter  answer 
ed,  feigning  astonishment  at  this  ques 
tion.  "  Why  do  you  ask  rne  that1?" 

"  Nothing,"  she  said,  with  a  shrug  of 
her  shoulders  ;  "  merely  an  idea." 

And,  spurring  her  horse,  which  bound 
ed  forward  with  a  snort  of  pain,  she  re 
joined  the  band,  which  started  at  a  lon# 
trot. 

"  Why  does  she  take  such  interest  in 
Don  Pablo1?"  Red  Cedar  asked  him 
self,  so  soon  as  he  was  alone.  "  I  must 
know  that !  Perhaps  it  may  help  me 
to " 

A  sinister  smile  curled  the  corners  of 
his  thin  lips,  and  he  added,  as  he  watch 
ed  the  girl  gallop  on  : 

"  You  fancy  your  secret  well  kept. 
Poor  fool !  I  shall  soon  know  it." 


54 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


CHAPTER     XI. 

THE    APACHES. 

THE  little  band  galloped  silently 
through  one  of  those  primitive  land 
scapes  which  owe  nothing  to  art,  and 
whose  imposing  and  grand  aspect  makes 
us  understand  the  infinite  power  of  the 
Creator,  and  plunges  the  soul  into  a 
gentle  reverie. 

It  was  one  of  those  fresh,  but  lovely 
autumn  mornings,  on  which  travelling  is 
«o  pleasant.  The  sun,  gently  rising  in 
the  horizon,  spread  its  vivifying  heat 
over  nature,  which  seemed  smiling  on 
it.  When  you  look  around  you  in  the 
valleys,  all  seemed  spotted  with  white 
and  blackish  gray.  The  hills  bore  on 
their  crests  enormous  mushrooms  of 
granite,  which  affected  the  quaintest 
x  shapes.  The  soil  of  these  hills  was 
grayish  white,  and  was  only  covered 
with  a  few  faded  plants  already  in  seed. 

In  the  plain  the  vegetation  was  yel 
low  ;  here  and  there  in  the  distance  a 
few  male  buffaloes  were  scattered  over 
the  prairie  like  black  dots.  The  flying 
locusts,  some  with  brown  wings,  but 
the  majority  of  a  light  yellow  color, 
were  so  numerous,  that  they  literally 
Covered  the  earth  at  certain  spots. 

At  a  slight  distance  off  rose  the  lofty 
Bears-paw  mountain,  whose  crest  was 
already  covered  by  a  slight  layer  of 
snow.  The  crows  formed  vast  circles 
in  the  air,  and  the  buffaloes,  elks,  as- 
shatas,  and  bighorns  ran  and  bounded  in 
every  direction,  bellowing  and  lowing. 

The  Pirates,  insensible  to  the  charms 
of  the  scenery,  and  having  no  other 
moving  principle  than  greed,  galloped 
in  the  direction  of  the  village  of  the 
Buffalo  tribe,  of  which  Stanapat  (the 
handful  of  blood)  was  the  Sachem, 
gradually  approaching  the  banks  of  the 
Gila,  which  was  still  invisible,  but 
whose  course  could  now  soon  be  traced, 
owing  to  the  mass  of  vapor  that  rose 
from  its  bosom,  and  floated  majestically 
over  it,  incessantly  drawn  up  by  the 
sunbeams. 

Toward  mid-day  the  band  stopped  to 
let  the  horses  breathe,  but,  owing  to 
the  impatience  of  Red  Cedar,  and  spe 
cially  of  the  White  Gazelle,  soon  start 


ed  again.  After  descending  a  very 
steep  hill,  and  marching  for  some  dis 
tance  in  a  deep  ravine,  that  formed  a 
species  of  canon,  the  band  at  length 
debouched  on  the  banks  of  the  Gila. 

A  strange  spectacle  was  the  resu  t : 
on  both  sides  the  stream  a  number  of 
Indians  apparently  encamped  at  the 
spot,  although  their  village  stood  a  little 
distance  off  at  the  top  of  a  hill,  in  ac 
cordance  with  the  fashion  of  the  Pue 
blos,  to  convert  their  habitations  into 
little  fortresses,  were  running  and  seek 
ing  in  every  direction,  shrieking,  gesti 
culating,  and  making  the  most  fearful 
disturbances. 

So  soon  as  they  perceived  strangers 
advancing  in  a  straight  line  toward 
them,  and  not  attempting  to  conceal 
themselves,  but  marching  in  perfect  or 
der,  they  uttered  frenzied  yells,  and 
rushed  to  meet  them,  brandishing  their 
weapons,  and  making  ready  for  a  light. 

"Confound  it !''  said  Sandoval,  "the 
Indians  do  not  seem  in  a  good  temper. 
Perhaps  we  do  wrong  in  accosting  them 
at  this  moment :  from  their  present  ap 
pearance  they  may  play  us  a  trick,  so 
we  will  keep  oil  our  guard." 

"  Bah  !  let  me  act.  I  take  every 
thing  on  myself,"  Red  Cedar  answered, 
with  assurance. 

"  1  ask  for  nothing  better,  my  friend," 
Sandoval  remarked  ;  "  do  exactly  what 
you  please  ;  deuce  take  me  if  1  try  to 
interfere.  Carai,  I  know  those  demons 
too  well  to  get  into  trouble  with  them 
rashly." 

"  Very  good  !  that  is  agreed  ;  do  not 
trouble  yourself  any  further  " 

At  a  sign  from  Red  Cedar  the  Pirates 
stopped,  waiting  impatiently  what  was 
going  to  happen,  and  resolved,  at  any 
rate,  with  that  brutal  egotism  charac 
teristic  of  scamps  of  that  sort,  to  re 
main  unmoved  spectators. 

The  squatter,  not  displaying  the 
slightest  trepidation,  threw  back  his 
rifle  on  its  sling,  and  taking  off  his  but- 
falo  robe  which  he  waved  before  him, 
advanced  towards  the  Apaches. 

The  latter,  seeing  the  strangers  halt 
with  their  hands  on  their  guns,  and  this 
man  advancing  alone  as  ambassador, 
hesitated  for  a  moment.  • 

They  formed  a  group,  and  consulted  j 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


55 


after  a  hurried  deliberation,  two  men 
moved  forward,  and  also  waving  their 
buffalo  robes,  stood  about  ten  paces  in 
front  of  the  hunter. 

"  What  does  my  brother  want  of  the 
warriors  of  my  nation  ?"  one  of  the  In 
dians  said,  in  a  haughty  voice ;  "  does 
he  not  know  that  the  hatchet  has  been 
dug  up  between  the  pale-faces  and  red 
skins,  or  has  he  brought  us  his  scalp,  to 
save  us  the  trouble  of  going  to  fetch  it?" 

"  Is  my  brother  a  chief?"  the  Pirate 
answered,  displaying  no  emotion. 

"I  am  a  chief,"  the  Indian  replied — 
"  my  brothers  call  me  Black  Cat." 

"  Very  good,"  Red  Cedar  continued. 
u  I  will  therefore  answer  my  brother 
that  I  have  known  for  a  long  time  that 
the  hatchet  has  been  dug  up  for  a  long 
time  between  the  '  Great  hearts  of  the 
East'  and  the  Apaches.  As  for  my 
scalp,  I  am  weak  enough  to  set  an  enor 
mous  value  on  it,  gray  as  it  is,  and  I 
have  no  intention  of  letting  it  be 
raised." 

"  In  that  case  my  brother  acted  very 
imprudently  in  coming  to  deliver  him 
self  up." 

"  The  future  will  prove  the  truth  of 
that.  Will  my  brother  hear  the  pro 
positions  I  am  commissioned  to  make 
him  V' 

"  My  brother  can  speak,  but  he  must 
be  brief,  for  my  sons  are  impatient." 

"  What  1  have  to  say  only  concerns 
Black  Cat." 

"  My  ears  are  open." 

"  I  have  come  to  offer  my  brother  the 
help  of  my  comrades  and  my  own — that 
is  to  say,  the  eleven  best  rifles  in  the 
prairie.  By  the  council  fire,  I  will  ex 
plain  to  the  chiefs  what  we  can  do  to 
deliver  them  from  their  implacable 
enemy,  Bloodson." 

"  Bloodson  is  a  cowardly  dog,"  the 
chief  answered ;  "  the  Indian  women 
despise  him.  My  brother  has  spoken 
well,  but  the  whites  have  a  forked 
tongue:  what  proof  will  my  brother 
give  rne  of  his  sincerity  T' 

"This,"  the  Pirate  intrepidly  answer 
ed,  as  he  approached  near  enough  to 
touch  the  Indian,  "  I  am  Red  Cedar,  the 
scalp-hunter." 

"  \\  ah  !"  the  chief  said,  his  eyes  flash 
ing. 


The  squatter  continued,  without  dis 
playing  any  emotion  : 

"  I  have  to  avenge  myself  on  Blood- 
son — to  succeed  in  it  I  have  come  to 
you,  who,  till  this  day,  have  been  my 
enemies,  and  on  whom  I  have  inflicted 
so  many  injuries,  and  I  place  myself  in 
your  hands,  with  my  comrades,  frankly 
and  unreservedly,  bringing  you  as  proof 
of  my  sincerity  a  skin  full  of  fire-water, 
three  plugs  of  tobacco,  and  two  female 
buffalo-robes,  white  as  the  snows  of  the 
Bears-paw.  My  brother  will  decide — I 
await  his  answer." 

The  Indians,  who  display  extraordi 
nary  temerity,  are  good  judges  of  cour 
age.  A  bold  action  always  pleases 
them,  even  from  an  enemy ;  on  the 
other  hand,  a  present  of  fire-water 
makes  them  forget  the  deepest  insults. 

In  the  meanwhile  Black  Cat  consulted 
for  some  minutes  with  the  chief  who  ac 
companied  him. 

After  a  very  long  discussion,  cupidity 
doubtless  gained  the  victory  in  the 
Apache's  mind  over  the  desire  for  ven 
geance,  as  his  countenance  brightened 
up,  and  he  held  out  his  hand  to  the 
squatter,  saying  : 

"  The  chiefs  of  my  tribe  will  smoka 
the  calumet  with  my  brother  and  his 
companions." 

Then,  taking  off  his  cap  of  antelope 
hide,  adorned  with  feathers,  he  placed  it 
himself  on  Red  Cedar's  head,  adding  : 

"  My  brother  is  now  sacred  ;  he  and 
his  companions  can  follow  me  without 
fear — no  insult  will  be  offered  .them." 

The  Pirates  had  anxiously  watched 
the  phases  of  this  conversation.  Though 
too  far  off  to  overhear  it,  they  followed 
all  the  gestures  of  the  speakers. 

When  Black  Cat  placed  his  cap  on 
their  comrade's  head,  they  immediately 
advanced,  without  waiting  for  him  to 
give  them  the  signal.  They  knew  that 
from  this  moment  they  had  nothing  to 
fear ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  they  would 
be  treated  with  the  greatest  respect  and 
utmost  consideration  by  all  the  mem 
bers  of  the  tribe. 

A  strange  fact,  worthy  of  remark,  is 
the  way  in  which  the  American  races 
understand  and  practice  hospitality. 

The  most  ferocious  tribes,  and  those 
most  addicted  to  pillage,  respect  in  the 


56 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


highest  degree  the  stranger  who  takes  a 
seat  at  their  fire.  This  man  may  have 
killed  one  of  the  members  of  the  family 
which  shelters  hirn  ;  he  may  have  the 
most  precious  articles  about  him,  and 
be  alone,  but  no  one  will  dare  to  insult 
him ;  every  one  will  strive  to  do  him 
all  sorts  of  services,  and  supply  him 
with  everything  that  may  be  useful  to 
him,  reserving  the  right  of  mercilessly 
killing  him  a  week  later,  if  they  meet 
him  on  the  prairie. 

The  Pirates  were,  consequently,  re 
ceived  with  open  arms  by  the  Apaches; 
a  tent  was  put  up  expressly  for  them, 
and  they  were  supplied  with  everything 
they  could  want. 

The  first  care  of  Red  Cedar  was  to 
carry  out  his  bargain  with  Black  Cat, 
and  pay  him  what  he  had  promised. 

The  chief  was  delighted ;  his  little 
eyes  sparkled  like  carbuncles,  he  leaped, 
gesticulated,  and  was  half  out  of  his 
mind. 

The  squatter  had  paid  him  a  royal 
ransom,  which  he  was  far  from  expect 
ing  ever  to  receive.  Hence  he  did  not 
leave  his  new  friend  again,  whom  he 
overwhelmed  with  attentions. 

When  the  Pirates  had  rested  and  had 
their  food,  Red  Cedar  turned  to  Black 
Cat. 

"  When  the  council  assembles,"  he 
said,  "  I  will  point  out  to  the  chief  the 
spot  where  Bloodson  now  is." 

"  My  brother  knows  it?" 

"  I  suspect  it." 

"  In  that  case  I  will  warn  the  hachesto, 
that  he  may  assemble  the  chiefs  round 
the  council  fire." 

u  Why  not  light  the  fire  here,  instead 
of  returning  to  the  village,  which  will 
occasion  a  great  loss  of  time  ?" 

"  My  brother  is  right,"  the  chief  an 
swered. 

He  rose,  and1  immediately  quitted  the 
tent.  A  few  moments  after,  the  hachesto 
of  the  hill  mounted  a  species  of  hillock, 
and  shaking  his  chickikoui  with  all  his 
strength,  invited  the  chiefs  of  the  nation 
to  assemble  in  council. 

The  same  announcement  was  made  in 
the  camp  on  the  other  side  of  the  Gila. 

An  hour  later,  the  principal  Apache 
chiefs  were  crouchingr  round  the  council 


fire,  lit  in  the  prairie  at  a  short  distance 
from  the  tent  of  the  white  men. 

At  the  moment  when  Black  Cat  rose 
and  was  preparing  to  utter  a  few  words, 
probably  with  the  intention  of  explain 
ing  the  reason  of  the  meeting,  a  great 
noise  was  heard,  and  a  mounted  Indian 
galloped  up,  shouting : 

"The  Buffaloes!  Stanapat,  Stana- 
pat  1" 

Another  Indian  arriving  at  equal 
speed  from  the  opposite  direction, 
shouted  at  the  same  time  : 

"  The  Siksekai !  the  Siksekai !" 

"  Here  are  our  allies,"  Black  Cat  then 
said ;  "  my  sons  will  prepare  to  receive 
them." 

The  council  was  broken  up. 

The  warriors  hurriedly  assembled, 
formed  in  two  large  bands,  flanked  on 
the  wings  by  horsemen,  and  ranged 
themselves  for  battle  in  the  two  direc 
tions  indicated  by  the  scouts. 

The  war  detachment  of  the  Buffaloes 
appeared  descending  a  hill,  and  advanc 
ing  in  good  order.  It  was  composed  of 
about  five  hundred  warriors,  perfectly 
armed  and  painted  for  war,  and  looking 
most  martial. 

A  detachment  of  the  Siksekai  of  about 
equal  strength  appeared  immediately 
after,  marching  in  good  order. 

So  soon  as  the  four  Indian  bands  saw 
each  other,  they  uttered  their  war-cry, 
discharged  their  muskets  and  brandished 
their  lances,  while  the  horsemen,  start 
ing  at  full  speed,  executed  the  most  sin 
gular  evolutions,  rushing  on  eacii  other 
as  if  charging,  turning  and  curvetting 
round  the  detachments  which  marched 
on  at  quick  step,  singing,  shouting,  firing 
their  guns,  rattling  their  chikikouis, 
blowing  their  shells,  and  incessantly 
sounding  their  war  whistles. 

There  was  something  really  imposing 
in  the  aspect  of  these  savage  warriors, 
with  their  stern  faces,  clothed  in  fantas 
tic  costumes,  and  covered  with  feathers 
and  hair,  which  the  wind  blew  in  every 
direction. 

When  the  four  parties  arrived  at  a 
short  distance  from  each  other,  they 
stopped  and  the  noise  ceased. 

Then  the  principal  chiefs,  holding  in 
their  hand  the  totem  of  their  tribe,  left 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


57 


the  ranks,  followed  by  the  pipe-bearer, 
carrying  a  great  sacred  calumet ;  they 
walked  a  few  paces  toward  each  other, 
and  planted  the  totem  on  their  right. 

The  pipe  bearers  filled  the  calumets, 
lighted  them,  bowed  to  the  four  cardin 
al  points,  and  handed  them  in  turn  to 
the  chief,  while  holding  the  bowls  in 
their  hands,  and  being  careful  that  no 
one  was  passed  over. 

This  preliminary  ceremony  accom 
plished,  the  principal  sorcerer  of  the 
Buffaloes  placed  himself  between  the 
totems,  and  turned  to  the  sun. 

"  Home  of  light !"  he  said,  "  thou 
who  vivifiest  everything  in  nature,  ser 
vant  and  visible  representative  of  the 
Great  Invisible  Spirit  who  governs  the 
world  which  he  has  created,  thy  child 
ren  long  separated  are  assembling  to 
day  to  defend  their  villages  and  hunt 
ing  grounds,  unjustly  and  incessantly 
attacked  by  men  without  faith  or  coun 
try,  whom  Niang,  the  Spirit  of  Evil, 
has  let  loose  upon  them.  Smile  on 
their  efforts,  O  Sun,  and  grant  them 
the  scalps  of  their  enemies !  Grant 
that  they  be  victorious,  and  accept  this 
offering  made  thee  by  thy  most  fervent 
adorer,  to  render  thee  favorable  to  thy 
sons,  and  make  thy  Apache  children  in 
vincible  !" 

While  uttering  these  words,  he  seiz 
ed  a  light  stone  axe  hanging  at  his  gir 
dle,  and  placing  his  left  arm  on  a  rock, 
laid  open  his  wrist  with  one  blow. 

The  blood  poured  profusely  from  this 
horrible  wound  ;  but  the  sorcerer,  im 
passive  and  apparently  insensible  to 
pain,  drew  himself  up  with  an  eye  flash 
ing  with  enthusiasm  and  religions  fan 
aticism,  and  shaking  his  arm  in  every 
direction,  sprinkled  the  chiefs  with  his 
blood,  while  shouting  in  a  loud  voice : 

"  Sun,  Sun,  grant  us  our  enemies,  as 
I  have  given  thee  my  hand  !" 

All  the  Indians  repeated  the  same 
prayer. 

The  yells  recommenced,  and  in  an 
instant  the  redskins,  seized  with  a  spir 
it  of  frenzy,  rushed  upon  each  other, 
brandishing  their  weapons  to  the  sound 
of  the  chichikouis  and  war  whistles,  and 
imitating  all  the  evolutions  of  a  real 
battle. 

The  sorcerer,   still  stoical,   Wrapped 


up  his  mutilated  arm  in  grass,  and  re 
tired  with  a  slow  and  measured  step, 
saluted  on  his  passage  by  the  Indians 
whom  his  action  had  electrified. 

When  the  tumult  was  slightly  calm 
ed,  the  chiefs  assembled  for  the  second 
time  round  the  council  fire,  whose  cir 
cle  had  been  enlarged  to  make  room  for 
the  allies. 

The  newly  arrived  warriors  were 
mingled  with  those  of  Black  Cat,  and 
the  greatest  cordiality  prevailed  among 
those  ferocious  men,  whose  number 
amounted  at  this  moment  to  nearly  two 
thousand,  and  who  only  dreamed  of 
blood,  murder,  and  pillage. 

"  Confederate  sachems  of  the  power 
ful  nation  of  the  Apaches,"  Stanapat 
said,  "  you  know  the  cause  which  once 
again  draws  us  up  arms  in  hand  against 
the  perfidious  white  men.  It  is,  there 
fore,  useless  to  enter  into  details  you 
know  ;  still,  I  believe,  that  since  the 
hatchet  has  been  dug  up,  we  ought  to 
use  it  till  it  is  completely  blunted.  The 
pale-faces  daily  invade  our  territory 
more  and  more ;  they  respect  none  of 
our  laws ;  they  kill  us  like  wild  beasts. 
Let  us  forget  our  personal  habits  for  an 
instant,  to  combine  against  the  common, 
foe,  that  Bloodson,  whom  the  genius  of 
evil  has  created  for  our  ruin.  If  we 
can  manage  to  remain  united,  we  shall 
exterminate  him,  for  we  shall  be  the 
stronger !  When  we  have  conquered, 
we  will  share  the  spoils  of  our  enemy. 
I  have  spoken." 

Stanapat  sat  down  again,  and  Black 
Cat  rose  in  his  turn. 

"  We  are  unanimous  enough  to  com 
mence  the  war  with  advantage ;  v/ithin 
a  few  days  other  auxiliaries  will  have 
found  us.  Why  wait  longer1?  Ten 
white  hunters  of  the  prairies,  our  allies, 
offer  to  surrender  to  us  the  den  of  the 
long  knives  of  the  East,  in  which  they 
tell  me  they  have  friends.  What  do  we 
wait  for  ?  Let  us  utter  our  war-cry  and 
start  at  once ;  any  delay  may  be  deadly 
for  us,  by  giving  our  enemies  time  to 
prepare  a  desperate  resistance,  against 
which  all  our  efforts  will  be  broken. 
Let  my  brothers  reflect.  I  have 
spoken." 

"  My  brother  has  spoken  well,"  Stana 
pat  answered  ;  "  we  must  fall  like  light- 


58 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


ning  on  our  enemy,  who  will  be  terri 
fied  by  an  unexpected  attack ;  but  we 
should  not  be  imprudent.  Where  are 
the  white  hunters?" 

"  Here,"  Black  Cat  replied. 

"  I  ask,"  the  sachem  continued,  "  that 
they  be  heard  by  the  council." 

The  other  chiefs  bowed  their  heads  in 
assent,  and  Black  Cat  rose  and  went  to 
the  Pirates,  who  were  impatiently 
awaiting  the  result  of  the  deliberation 
of  the  sachems. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

BLACK   CAT. 

IN  order  to  understand  the  ensuing 
incidents,  we  are  compelled  to  return  to 
the  maidens  whom  we  left  at  the  mo 
ment  when  they  escaped  from  Red 
Cedar's  camp,  escorted  by  the  Canadian 
hunters. 

The  fugitives  stopped  a  few  moments 
before  sunrise  on  a  little  tongue  of  sand 
forming  a  species  of  promontory  a  few 
yards  in  length  on  the  waters  of  Gila, 
which  were  rather  deep  at  this  point, 
whence  the  river  or  prairie  could  be 
surveyed. 

All  was  calm  and  tranquil  in  the 
desert.  The  impetuous  Gila  rolled 
along  its  yellowish  stream  between  two 
banks  clothed  with  wood  and  thick  chap- 
paral.  Amid  the  dark  green  branches 
thousands  of  birds  were  striking  up  a 
concert,  with  which  was  mingled  at  in 
tervals  the  lowing  of  the  buffaloes. 

The  first  care  of  the  hunters  was  to 
kindle  a  fire  and  prepare  the  morning 
meal,  while  their  hobbled  horses  nibbled 
the  young  tree-shoots. 

"Why  breakfast  already,  Harry?" 
Ellen  asked,  "  when  we  have  been  tra 
velling  hardly  four  hours." 

"  We  do  not  know  what  await  us  in 
an  hour,  Miss  Ellen,"  the  hunter  an 
swered  ;  "  hence  we  must  profit  by  the 
moment  of  respite  Providence  grants  us 
to  restore  our  strength." 

The  maiden  let  her  head  droop. 

The  meal  was  soon  ready,  and  when 
it  was  over  they  remounted  and  the 
flight  commenced. 


All  at  once,  a  shrill  and  peculiar 
whistle  was  heard  in  the  tall  grass,  and 
some  forty  Indians,  as  if  emerging  from 
the  ground,  surrounded  the  party. 

At  the  first  moment,  Ellen  fancied 
that  these  men  were  the  Coras  warriors 
Eagle-wing  was  to  bring  up  ;  but  the 
illusion  lasted  a  very  short  while,  and  a 
glance  sufficed  for  them  to  recognize 
Apaches. 

Dona  Clara,  at  first  alarmed  by  this 
unexpected  attack,  almost  immediately 
regained  her  coolness,  and  saw  that  any 
resistance  was  impossible. 

"  You  would  sacrifice  yourselves  in 
vain  for  me," she  said  to  the  Canadians; 
"  leave  me  temporarily  in  the  hands  of 
these  Indians,  whom  I  fear  less  than  Red 
Cedar's  gambusinos.  Fly,  Ellen — fly 

/*    •  i       «%  "  *  *   * 

my  friends. 

"  No  !"  the  American  girl  exclaimed, 
passionately ;  "  I  will  die  with  you,  my 
friend." 

"  The  two  women  will  follow  us,  as 
well  as  the  paleface  hunters,"  one  of  the 
Indians  commanded. 

"  For  what  purpose  1"  Dona  Clara 
asked,  softly. 

At  a  sign  from  the  chief,  two  men 
seized  the  young  Mexican  lady,  and  tied 
her  to  her  horse,  though  not  employing 
any  violence. 

With  a  movement  swifter  than 
thought,  Harry  lifted  Ellen  from  her 
saddle,  threw  her  across  his  horse's 
neck,  and  trying  a  desperate  effort,  ' 
threw  himself,  followed  by  Dick,  into 
the  thick  of  the  redskins.  Employing 
their  rifles  like  clubs,  they  began  felling 
he  Apaches. 

There  was,  for  a  moment,  a  terrible 
contest,  but  at  length  Harry  succeeded, 
after  desperate  efforts,  in  forcing  his 
way,  and  set  off  at  full  speed,  bearing 
with  him  Red  Cedar's  daughter,  who 
had  fainted  from  terror. 

Less  lucky  than  he,  Dick,  after  felling 
two  or  three  Indians,  was  hurled  from 
tiis  horse,  and  nailed  to  the  ground  by 
a  lance.  The  young  man,  in  falling, 
cast  a  despairing  glance  at  her  whom 
tie  had  been  unable  to  save,  and  for 
whom  he  died. 

An  Indian  leaped  on  his  body,  raised 
his  scalp,  and  brandished  it,  all  blood- 
dripping,  with  cries  of  ferocious  laugh- 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


59 


ter,  before  the  eyes  of  Dona  Clara,  wh 
was  half  dead  with  terror  and  pain. 

The  redskins  then  started  at  a  gallop 
carrying  off  their  prey  with  them. 

The  Indians  are  not  in  the  habit  now 
a-days  of  ill-treating  their  prisoners  a 
they  used  to  do,  especially  if  they  ar 
women.  Hence  Dona  Clara's  abductor 
had  not  made  her  endure  any  unkin 
treatment. 

These  Indians  formed  part  of  an  Apa 
die  war-party,  about  one  hundred  stron_ 
and  commanded  by  a  renowned  chiel 
called  Black  Cat.  All  these  warrior 
were  well-armed,  and  mounted  on  hand 
some  and  good  horses. 

Immediately  after  capturing  the 
maiden,  they  started  at  a  gallop  across 
the  prairie  for  nearly  six  hours,  in  th< 
hope  of  outstripping  any  party  tha 
might  start  in  pursuit,  and  toward  night 
fall  they  halted  on  the  banks  of  th< 
Gila. 

At  this  spot  the  river  flowed  majes 
tically  between  two  escarped  banks 
bordered  by  lofty  rocks  carved  in  the 
strangest  fashion.  The  ground  was  stil 
covered  by  a  grass  at  least  three  feet 
high,  and  a  few  clumps  of  trees  scattered 
over  the  plain  agreeably  diversified  the 
landscape,  which  was  enlivened  by  flocks 
of  buffaloes,  elks,  and  bighorns,  which 
could  be  seen  feeding  in  the  distance. 

The  Indians  raised  their  tents  on  a 
hill,  from  the  top  of  which  a  very  ex 
tensive  view  could  be  enjoyed.  They 
lit  several  fires,  and  prepared  to  pass 
the  night  in  waiting  for  the  other  war 
riors  to  join  them. 

Dona  Clara  was  placed  by  herself  in 
a  tent  of  buffalo  skins,  in  which  a  fire 
was  lighted,  as  at  this  advanced  season 
the  nights  are  cold  in  the  Far  West. 

Accustomed  to  desert  life,  and  famil 
iarised  with  Indian  customs,  Dona  Cla 
ra  would  have  patiently  supported  her 
position,  had  it  not  been  for  the  thought 
of  the  misfortunes  which  had  so  long 
crushed  her,  and  of  her  father's  fate  of 
which  she  was  ignorant. 

Sealed  on  buffalo  skins  by  the  fire, 
she  had  just  finished  eating  a  few 
mouthfuls  of  roast  elk,  washed  down 
with  smilax  water,  and  was  reflecting 
deeply  on  the  strange  and  terrible 
events  which  had  marked  this  day, when , 


the  curtain  of  the  tent  was  raised,  and   * 
Black  Cat  appeared. 

The  chief  was  a  man  of  lofty  stature. 
He  was  upwards  of  sixty  years  of  age, 
but  his  hair  was  still  black. 

He  enjoyed  in  his  tribe  a  reputation 
for  courage  and  wisdom,  which  he  justi 
fied  in  every  respect. 

A  cloud  of  sorrow  veiled  his  natural 
ly  soft  and  placid  features. 

He  walked  slowly  in,  and  took  a  seat 
by  the  side  of  Dona  Clara,  whom  he  re 
garded  for  some  moments  with  interest. 
"  My  daughter  is  afflicted,"  he  said, 
"  she  is  thinking  of  her  father,  her  heart 
is  with  her  family;  but  my  daughter 
will  take  courage,  and  not  be  cast 
down.  Natosh  (God)  will  come  to  her, 
and  dry  her  tears." 

The  young  Mexican  shook  her  head 
sadly,  but  made  no  reply  ;  the  chief 
continued: 

"  I  also  suffer  :  a  cloud  is  very  heavy 
on  my  mind.  The  pale- face  warriors  of 
ler  nation  wage  an  obstinate  war  with 
us,  but  I  know  the  way  to  make  them 
issume  the  feet  of  antelopes,  to  fly  far 
rom  our  hunting  grounds.  To-morrow, 
)n  reaching  the  village  of  my  tribe,  I 
»vill  have  recourse  to  a  great  medicine, 
daughter  will  console  herself;  no 
larm  will  happen  to  her  among  us  ;  I 
will  be  her  father." 

"  Chief,"  Dona  Clara  answered,  "lead 
ne  back  to  Santa-Fe,  and  I  promise  you 
ny  father  will  give  you  as  many  rifles, 
owder,  bullets,  and  looking-glasses  as 
ou  like  to  ask  of  him." 
"  That  is  not  possible ;  my  daughter 
s  too  precious  an    hostage    for  me  to 
hink  of  surrendering  her.     My  daugh- 
er  must  forget  the  whites,  whom  she 
will  never  see  again,  and  prepare  to  be- 
ome  the  wife  of  a  chief." 
"  I !"  the  maiden  exclaimed  in  terror, 
become  the  wife  of  an  Indian?  Never 
— make  me  undergo   all    the  tortures 
ou  please  to  inflict  on  me,  instead  of 
ondemning  me  to  such  a  punishment." 
"My   daughter   will   reflect,"   Black 
at  answered,  "of  what  does  the  White 
ily  of  the  Valley  complain  ?  we  are 
nly  doing  to  her  what  has  been  done 
o  us  frequently — that  is  the  law  of  the 
rairies." 
Black  Cat  rose,  giving  Dona  Clara  a 


60 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


mingled  glance  of  tenderness  and  pity, 
and  slowly  left  the  tent. 

After  his  departure  the  poor  girl  fell 
into  a  state  of  utter  prostration ;  the 
horror  of  her  position  appeared  before 
her  in  all  its  truth. 

The  night  passed  then  for  her,  weep 
ing  and  sobbing,  alone,  amid  the  laugh 
ter  and  songs  of  the  Apaches,  who  were 
celebrating  the  arrival  of  the  warriors 
of  their  detachment. 

The  next  morning,  at  day-break,  the 


warriors    started 


again, 


several    men 


watching  the  movements  of  the  prison 
er;  but  Black  Cat  kept  aloof  from  her. 

The  Indians  marched  along  the  Gila, 
through  a  yellowish  prairie. 

Gloomy  lines  of  chapparal,  intersect 
ed  by  trees,  whose  red  or  grayish-brown 
color  contrasted  with  the  yellow  frond- 
age  of  the  poplars,  bordered  the  road  ; 
on  the  horizon  rose  grand  hills  of  a 
whitish  gray,  covered  with  patches  of 
colored  grass  and  dark  green  cedar. 

The  band  undulated  like  an  immense 
serpent  in  this  grand  desert,  proceeding 
towards  the  village,  whose  approaches 
could  already  be  detected  by  the  me- 
phitic  miasmas,  exhaling  from  scaffold 
ings,  seen  in  the  distance,  on  which  the 
Indians  keep  their  dead,  and  let  them 
decompose,  and  dry  in  the  sun,  instead 
of  burying  them. 

At  about  two  o'clock  the  warriors 
entered  the  village,  amid  the  shouts  of 
inhabitants,  and  the  sound  of  the  chi- 
chikouis,  mingled  with  the  furious  bark 
ing  of  the  dogs. 

This  village,  built  on  the  top  of  a  hill, 
formed  a  tolerably  regular  circle. 

It  was  a  considerable  number  of  earth 
huts,  built  without  order  or  symmetry. 
Wooden  pallisades,  twelve  feet  high, 
served  it  as  ramparts,  and  at  equal  dis 
tances  four  bastions  of  earth  supplied 
with  loopholes,  and  covered  inside  and 
outside  with  intertwined  willow  branch 
es,  completed  the  system  of  defence. 

In  the  centre  of  the  village  was  a  va 
cant  space,  of  about  forty  feet  in  diame 
ter,  in  the  centre  of  which  was  the  "  ark 
of  the  first  man,"  a  species  of  small 
round  cylinder,  formed  of  wide  planks, 
four  feet  high,  round  which  creepers 
twined. 

To  the  west  of  the  spot  we  have  just 


described  was  the  medicine  lodge, 
where  the  festivals  and  religious  rites 
of  the  Apaches  were  celebrated.  A 
mannikin  made  of  animal  skins,  with  a 
wooden  head,  painted  black,  and  wear 
ing  a  fur  cap,  decorated  with  plumes, 
was  fixed  on  a  tall  pole,  to  represent  the 
spirit  or  genius  of  evil.  Other  quaint 
figures  of  the  same  nature  were  dis 
persed  in  various  squares  of  the  village, 
and  were  offerings  made  to  the  lord  of 
life. 

Between  the  huts  was  a  great  num 
ber  of  several  storied  scaffoldings,  on 
which  the  maize,  wheat,  and  vegetables 
of  the  tribe  were  drying. 

Black  Cat  ordered  Dona  Clara  to  be 
conducted  to  a  calli  he  had  inhabited 
for  a  long  time,  and  whose  position,  in. 
the  oentre  of  the  village,  offered  suffi 
cient  guarantee  for  the  security  of  the 
prisoner. 

He  then  went  to  prepare  himself  for 
the  great  magical  conjuration,  by  which 
he  hoped  to  destroy  the  pale- faces,  hi  a 
enemies. 

When  Dona  Clara  found  herself 
alone,  she  fell  despondingly  on  a  pile  of 
leaves,  and  burst  into  tears. 

The  cabin  serving  her  as  a  prison  was 
like  all  the  rest  in  the  village ;  it  was 
round,  and  slightly  arched  at  the  top ; 
the  entrance  was  protected  by  a  species 
of  porch,  closed  with  a  dried  skin, 
stretched  on  the  cross  sticks.  In  the 
centre  of  the  roof  was  an  orifice,  in 
tended  to  let  the  smoke  out,  and  cover 
ed  with  a  sort  of  rounded  cap  made  of 
sticks  and  branches.  The  interior  of 
the  hut  was  large,  clean,  and  even 
rather  light. 

The  mode  of  building  these  abodes 
is  extremely  simple. 

They  consist  of  eleven  to  fifteen 
stakes,  four  or  five  feet  in  length,  be 
tween  which  shorter  ones  are  placed 
very  closely  together.  Upon  the  hign- 
er  poles  rest  long  beams,  inclining  to 
the  centre,  and  which,  placed  very  close 
to  each  other,  support  the  roof.  Exter 
nally,  they  are  covered  with  a  sort  of 
trellis  work,  made  of  branches,  fastened 
together  with  bark ;  straw  is  laid  over 
them,  and  earth  on  the  top  of  that 
again. 

The   maiden,   although   she    was  so 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE   PRAIRIES. 


61 


wearied,  did  not  feel  the  slightest  in 
clination  to  repose  on  the  bed  prepared 
for  her. 

It  was  formed  of  a  long  parchment 
box,  with  a  square  entrance  ;  the  inte 
rior  was  lined  with  several  bears'  skins, 
on  whi^h  she  could  have  stretched  her 
self  comfortably,  but  she  preferred 
crouching  in  the  centre  of  the  hut,  near 
the  hole  in  which  the  fire,  lit  to  protect 
her  from  the  cold,  was  on  the  point  of 
expiring. 

Toward  midnight,  at  the  moment 
when,  despite  her  firm  resolution  to 
keep  awake,  she  was  beginning  to  $oze, 
Dona  Clara  heard  a  slight  sound  at  the 
entrance  of  her  hut. 

She  ran  hastily,  and  by  the  dying 
flashes  of  the  fire,  perceived  an  Indian 
warrior.  It  was  Eagle-wing. 

The  maiden  suppressed  with  difficulty 
a  cry  of  joy  at  the  sudden  appearance 
of  the  Coras  Chief. 

The  latter  laid  a  finger  on  his  lip ; 
then,  after  looking  scrutinizingly 
around,  he  walked  up  to  the  maiden, 
and  said  in  a  voice  soft  as  a  sigh : 

"Why  did  not  the  Lily  follow  the 
road  laid  down  Eagle-wing?  instead  of 
being  at  this  hour  the  prisoner  of  the 
Apache  dogs,  the  pale-virgin  would  be 
by  her  father's  side." 

At  this  remark  a  heart-rending  sob 
burst  from  Dona  Clara's  bosom,  and 
she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  The  Apaches  are  cruel,  they  sell 
women.  Does  rny  sister  know  the  fate 
that  threatens  her  ]" 

"Too  well,  alas!" 

"  What  will  my  sister  the  Lily  do  !" 
the  Indian  asked. 

"  What  I  will  do  r  the  Mexican  girl 
answered,  her  eye  suddenly  gleaming 
with  a  dark  flash  ;  "  a  daughter  of  my 
race  will  never  be  the  slave  of  an 
Apache  ;  if  my  father  will  give  me  his 
knife,  he  will  see  whether  I  fear  death." 

<b  It  is  well,"  the  sachem  continued  ; 


"  my  sister  is  brave ;  great  courage  and 
cunning  will  be  needed  to  succeed  in 
what  I  am  about  to  attempt." 

"  What  does  my  brother  mean  ?"  the 
maiden  asked,  with  a  lively  movement 
of  hope. 

"  My  sister  will  lisfen  ;  the  moments 
are  precious;  has  the  Lily  confidence 
in  me  ?" 

Dona  Clara  looked  the  Indian  in  the 
face  ;  she  regarded  his  honest  counte 
nance  for  a  moment,  then,  seizing  the 
warrior's  hand  and  pressing  it  in  hers, 
said  warmly : 

"Yes,  yes,  I  have  confidence  in  you, 
Eagle-wing  ;  speak,  what  do  you  ask 
of  me  ?" 

"  To  save  you,  I,  an  Indian,  am  about 
to  betray  the  men  of  my  race,"  the  sa 
chem  proceeded  sadly  ;  "I  do  not  say 
this  to  heighten  the  value  of)  my  deed, 
sister  ;  I  will  restore  you  to  your  father. 
To-morrow  Black  Cat  will  undergo,  in 
the  presence  of  the  whole  tribe,  the 
great  medicines  of  the  sweating  cabin, 
in  order  that  Bloodson  may  fall  into 
his  hands  with  all  the  warriors  he 
commands." 

"  I  know  it." 

"My  sister  will  be  present  at  the 
ceremony.  She  must  pay  attention  to 
my  slightest  signs,  but,  above  all, 
must  be  careful  that  none  of  the  Apa 
che  warriors  notice  the  glances  she  ex 
changes  with  me,  or  we  shall  both  be 
lost.  Till  to-morrow." 

Then,  bowing  with  a  respect  blend 
ed  with  tenderness,  Eagle-wing  left  the 
calli. 

Dona  Clara  fell  on  her  knees, 
clasped  her  trembling  hands,  and  ad 
dressed  a  fervent  prayer  to  Heaven. 

Without,  the  barking  of  the  dogs 
could  be  heard,  mingled  with  the 
howls  of  the  coyotes,  and  the  measured 
steps  of  the  Apache  warriors  watch 
ing  the  hut. 

Moukapec  was  one  of  the  sentinels. 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 


THE     GREAT     MEDICINE. 

BEFORE  going  further  we  will  give 
some  indispensable  information  respect 
ing  the  Pueblos  Indians,  who  are  des 
tined  to  play  a  great  part  in  this  story, 
which,  we  believe,  through  its  novelty, 
will  interest  the  reader. 

These  Indians  hold  the  centre  be 
tween  the  red-skins  of  North  America, 
and  that  race  of  Toltecs,  on  whom  were 
grafted  all  the  branches  whose  amalga 
mation  composes  the  great  indigenous 
nation  of  Mexico.  Though  living  chief 
ly  by  trade  and  agriculture,  they  have 
not  resigned  all  their  warlike  tastes. 

The  Pueblos  are  established  all  along 
the  northern  line  of  Mexico,  the  princi 
pal  tribes  being  the  Navajoes,  Apaches, 
Yutas,  Caignas,  and  Comanches.  The 
Apaches  differ  a  little  from  the  red-skins 
properly  so  called,  with  whom  they 
have  a  common  character,  however  ; 
and  so  do  the  Comanches. 

The  latter  tribe  is  the  most  redoubt 
able  in  the  desert,  and  calls  itself  p'-oud- 
ly  the  Queen  of  the  Prairies.  The  Co 
manches  alone  of  all  the  Indians  have 
managed  to  shield  themselves  from  a 
taste  for  strong  liquors,  which  are  so 
pernicious  to  the  red  race.  The  Co 
manches  possess  a  haughty  and  indepen 
dent  character,  as  the  reader  will  be  en- 
.abled  to  judge  in  the  progress  of  our 
story. 

We  will  only  mention  here  one  of 
their  customs,  which  will  be  sufficient 
to  let  them  be  appreciated  at  their  full 
'value. 

Polygamy  is  allowed  among  the  Co- 
.uanches  ;  each  chief  has  six,  eight  or 
ten.  wives  ;  but,  among  this  people  a 
marriage  is  arranged  neither  by  soft 
words  nor  presents  ;  the  Comanche 
warrior  reaches  a  surer  and  more  sol 
emn  pledge. 

This  is  how  he  acts : 

So  soon  as  he  fancies  himself  beloved 
by  a  woman,  he  kills  one  of  his  horses, 
.plucks  out  its  heart,  and  nails  it  all 
bleeding  to  the  door  of  the  girl  he  is 
courting.  She  takes  it  down,  roasts  it, 
and  theu  divides  it  equally,  giving  one 


half  to  her  lover,  eating  the  other  her 
self,  and  the  marriage  is  concluded. 

Up  to  the  present,  none  have  been 
able  to  enslave  this  nation,  which  is  the 
terror  of  all  the  Mexican  frontiers. 

After  this  explanation,  we  will  go  on 
with  our  story. 

Dona  Clara  was  aroused  at  an  early 
hour  by  the  sound  of  the  chichikouis  and 
other  Indian  instruments,  with  which 
was  incessantly  mingled  the  barking  of 
the  countless  pack  of  dogs  that  always 
accompanies  the  red-skins. 

At  sunrise  Black  Cat  entered  the  pri 
soner's  cabin,  and,  after  bowing  to  her, 
told  her  in  his  honeyed  voice,  while  gaz 
ing  eagerly  at  her,  that  he  was  about  to 
make  the  great  medicine  of  the  Bah-oh- 
akan-es,  in  order  to  obtain  from  the 
Master  of  Life  the  surrender  of  his 
enemy  into  his  hands ;  and  that  if,  in 
stead  of  remaining  alone  with  her  grief, 
she  desired  to  witness  the  ceremony, 
she  could  follow  him. 

The  young  Mexican,  not  wishing  the 
chief  to  notice  the  delight  she  experienced 
at  this  proposal,  appeared  to  submit, 
and  not  to  accept  his  offer. 

The  whole  population  of  the  village 
was  astir,  the  women  and  children  run 
ning  in  all  directions,  uttering  deafening 
yells.  Even  the  warriors  and  old  men 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  the  Indian 
stoicism. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  village  was  de 
serted,  so  eager  were  all  to  proceed  to 
a  vast  plain  running  along  the  banks  of 
the  Gila,  where  the  great  medicine  talis 
man  was  to  be  accomplished. 

Black  Cat,  cunning  as  he  was,  was 
deceived  by  the  apparent  weakness  of 
his  prisoner,  and  her  feigned  despon 
dency.  After  giving  her  a  piercing 
glance  to  assure  himself  that  she  was 
not  playing  with  him,  he  made  her  a 
sign  to  leave  the  hut  and  mix  with  the 
aged  women,  who,  like  all  the  rest, 
wished  to*  witness  the  ceremony ;  and 
he  then  retired,  without  having  the 
slightest  suspicion. 

Dona  Clara  placed  herself  at  the  foot 
of  a  tree,  whose  tufted  branches  bent 
over  the  river;  and  there,  with  palpi 
tating  heart,  restless  mind,  and  eye  and 
ears  on  the  watch,  she  impatiently 
awaited  the  hour  of  her  deliverance,  al- 


THE   PIRATES    OF   THE   PRAIRIES. 


63 


though  feigning  to  be  attracted  by  all 
that  went  on  around  her. 

The  Indians  had  built  a  small  hut, 
covered  externally  with  buffalo  robes, 
and  jiaving  a  low  and  narrow  door. 

In  order  to  reach  this  hut,  a  path 
forty  feet  long  and  one  wide  had  been 
traced,  crossing  the  village  road  at  right 
angles.  The  grass  had  been  torn  up  all 
along  this  path,  and  collected  at  its  ter 
mination  opposite  the  hut.  Forty  pair 
of  moccasins  had  also  been  placed,  one 
behind  the  other,  in  two  rows,  all  the 
extent  of  the  path. 

By  the  side  of  the  mound  of  grass 
burned  a  fire,  in  which  the  flat  stones 
were  heated.  When  they  were  red  hot, 
they  were  carried  into  the  hut,  and 
placed  on  a  hearth  made  for  the  pur 
pose. 

The  entire  population  of  the  village, 
with  the  exception  of  a  few  women, 
whom  their  age  kept  apart,  were  seated 
along  the  two  sides  of  the  path,  with  a 
large  number  of  dishes  of  Indian  corn, 
broth,  grease,  and  meat  before  them. 

The  sorcerer  was  standing  on  the 
mound  of  grass. 

At  a  signal  he  rose,  and  proceeded 
to  the  sweating  lodge,  being  careful  al 
ways  to  place  his  feet  on  the  moccasins. 

At  the  door  of  the  lodge  Black  Cat 
was  standing,  naked  to  the  waist. 

The  sorcerer,  after  remaining  a  few 
minutes  in  the  lodge,  carne  out  again, 
holding  a  cutlass  in  his  hand.  He 
walked  silently  towards  Black  Cat,  who, 
on  seeing  him,  rose  and  stretched  his 
left  hand,  saying : 

"  I  gladly  give  the  first  joint  of  the 
forefinger  of  this  hand  to  Natosh,  if  he 
will  surrender  my  enemy  to  me,  and 
allow  me  to  lift  his  scalp." 

"  Natosh  has  heard  thee :  he  accepts," 
the  sorcerer  replied,  laconically. 

With  a  blow  of  his  cutlass  he  cut  off 
the  joint,  which  he  threw  over  his  head, 
uttering  some  mysterious  words ;  while 
Black  Cat,  apparently  insensible  to  the 
pain,  continued  his  prayers. 

This  operation  terminated,  the  sor 
cerer  took  a  rod  made  of  willow 
branches*  and  fastened  by  the  tail  of  a 
prairie  wolf:  he  dipped  it  in  each  of  the 
dishes,  and  scattered  the  contents  in  the 
|  direction  of  the  four  winds,  while  in- 


Coking  the  Lord  of  life,  fire,  water,  and 
air. 

These  dishes,  which  no  one  had  yet 
touched,  were  then  divided  among  the 
spectators,  who  devoured  them  in  a 
twinkling. 

After  this,  the  oldest  warriors  entered 
the  medicine  lodge :  the  women  care 
fully  covered  them,  and  threw  over  the 
red-hot  stones  water  which  they  drew 
from  the  sacred  vessels,  with  sprigs  of 
wormwood. 

After  this  ceremony,  all  the  inhabi 
tants  began  dancing  round  the  hut,  ac 
companying  themselves  with  their  chi- 
chikouis. 

During  this  time,  he  had  placed  on 
the  pile  of  grass  in  front  of  the  lodge,  a 
buffalo  head  with  its  muzzle  to  the 
wind  :  then,  taking  a  long  pole  covered 
with  a  bran-new  red  blanket,  which  he 
offered  to  the  Master  of  Life,  he  pro 
ceeded,  followed  by  his  relations  and 
friends,  to  plant  it  before  the  sweating 
lodges. 

The  songs  and  dances  continued.  The 
sounds  of  the  chichikouis  became  more 
animated. 

A  species  of  frenzy  seemed  to  seize 
on  all  the  Indians,  and  the  old  women, 
who,  till  this  moment,  had  remained 
passive  spectators  of  the  ceremony, 
rushed  in  disorder  towards  the  lodge, 
nttering  loud  yells,  and  mingled  with 
the  noisy  crowd. 

Dona  Clara  remained  alone  at  the 
foot  of  the  tree,  near  the  river-bank. 
No  one  paid  any  further  attention  to 
her. 

It  seemed  as  if  she  had  been  forgot 
ten  in  the  general  excitement. 

She  took  an  anxious  glance  around  : 
by  a  species  of  intuition  she  felt  that  the 
help  she  expected  would  arrive  from  the 
direction  of  the  river.  Carelessly  and 
slowly,  stooping  every  second  to  cull 
one  of  the  charming  flowers — something 
like  our  violets — which  are  the  last  to 
enamel  the  prairie,  she  approached  the 
bank. 

All  at  once  she  felt  herself  pulled 
back  by  the  skirt  of  her  dress,  and  felt 
terribly  alarmed. 

At  the  same  time  as  this  mysterious 
hand  seized  her,  a  voice  whispered  the 
simple  words : 


64 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


"  To  the  right,  and  stoop." 

The  maiden  guessed,  rather  than  heard 
the  words  ;  but  she  obeyed  without  hesi 
tation. 

Two  minutes  after,  following  a  small 
path  that  opened  before  her,  she  found 
herself  sheltered  behind  an  enormous 
rock,  on  the  river-bank.  Two  horses, 
saddled  in  the  Indian  fashion,  were  fas 
tened  to  a  picket  near  the  rock. 

At  a  sign  from  Eagle-wing,  Dona 
Clara  leaped  on  to  one  of  the  horses, 
while  the  Indian  bestrode  the  other. 

"  Good,"  he  said,  in  his  sympathizing 
voice  ;  "  brave  heart !"  And  letting 
loose  the  bridles  of  both  horses,  he  said  : 
**  Quicker  than  the  storm  !" 

The  half-tamed  mustangs  started  more 
rapidly  than  the  wind,  making  the  peb 
bles  strike  fire  under  their  hoofs. 

It  was  broad  day,  the  prairie  extended 
for  an  enormous  distance,  flat,  naked, 
and  undiversified ;  and  at  only  a  few 
paces  off,  the  whole  population  of  the 
village  would  not  fail  soon  to  notice 
them. 

The  position  was  most  perilous  and 
critical ;  the  two  fugitives  knew  it,  and 
redoubled  their  ardor,  boldly  braving 
danger. 

All  at  once  a  yell  of  rage  vibrated  in 
the  air.  , 

"  Courage !"  the  chief  said. 

"  1  have  it,"  the  girl  replied,  with 
clenched  teeth,  as  she  urged  her  horse 
to  increased  speed.  "  They  shall  never 
capture  me  alive." 

The  Apaches,  who  had  left  their  vil 
lage  for  a  religious  festival,  had  not 
brought  their  arms  with  them,  and  their 
horses  naturally  remained  in  the  stables. 

This  was  an  hour's  respite  granted  the 
fugitives. 

So  soon  as  the  Indians  had  perceived 
Dona  Clara's  flight,  the  ceremony  was 
interrupted,  and  all  rushed  tumultuous- 
ly  toward  the  village,  noisily  demanding 
their  weapons  and  horses. 

\yithin  a  few  minutes  the  most  active 
were  in  the  saddle,  and  galloping  in  the 
traces  of  Dona  Clara  and  Eagle- wing. 

The  most  celebrated  European  riders 
can  form  no  idea  of  what  a  pursuit  is  on 
the  prairies. 

The  Indians  are  the  finest  horsemen 
in  the  world.  Kiveted  to  their  steeds, 


which  they  squeeze  and  hold  up  between 
their  nervous  knees,  they  become  iden 
tified  with  them,  communicating  their 
passions  to  them,  as  it  were,  by  an  elec 
tric  fluid,  and,  like  the  Centaurs  in  the 
fable,  they  perform  prodigies  on  horse 
back  ;  rocks,  ravines,  hedges,  currents 
— nothing  stops  or  checks  this  furious 
race  which  is  allied  to  madness:  a  liv 
ing  whirlwind,  they  fly  through  space 
with  headlong  speed,  enveloped  in  a  halo 
of  dust. 

Two  hours  passed  thus,  and  the  fugi 
tives,  bent  over  their  horses'  necks,  were 
unable  to  take  a  moment's  rest.  Their 
half-maddened  steeds,  with  their  coats 
white  with  foam,  and  bleeding  nostrils, 
reeled  with  fatigue  and  terror;  their 
tumbling  sinews  scarce  supported  them, 
and  yet,  urged  on  by  their  riders,  they 
devoured  the  space,  guessing  instinc 
tively  that  the  furious  band  of  Indians 
was  pursuing  them  at  a  short  distance. 

Scarce  a  thousand  yards  separated  the 
two  parties.  Black  Cat,  furious  at  hav 
ing  been  cheated  by  a  woman,  was  two 
horses'  length  in  advance,  and  was  fol 
lowed  by  seven  or  eight  Indians,  whose 
horses,  fresher  than  those  of  the  others, 
had  forged  ahead. 

Eagle-wing  turned  round,  and  saw- 
four  warriors  a  hundred  paces  from 
him. 

"  Forward  !"  he  shouted  to  the  maid 
en,  as  he  struck  her  horse's  croup  with 
his  whip ;  and  it  bounded  forward,  with 
a  supreme  effort,  uttering  a  snort  of 
pain. 

At  the  same  time  the  Coras  turned 
back,  and  rushing  like  lightning  on  his 
enemies,  ere  they  had  time  to  place 
themselves  in  ^a  posture  of  defence,  he 
discharged  his  rifle  at  them. 

An  Apache  fell  dead. 

The  sachem,  whose  horse  was  ex 
hausted,  felled  a  second  foe  with  the 
butt  of  his  gun;  then,  with  extraordi 
nary  skill,  he  leaped  on  to  the  'steed  of 
^he  first  warrior  he  had  killed,  caught 
the  other  by  the  bridle,  and  went  off 
again,  leaving  the  Apaches  astounded 
by  this  act  of  boldness. 

Ten  minutes  later  he  rejolted  Dona 
Clara,  who  had  seen  with  a  terror, 
mingled  with  admiration,  the  heroic  ac 
tion  of  her  defender. 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


65 


The  maiden,  beneath  her  apparent 
weakness,  concealed  a  thoroughly  man 
ly  soul.  With  her  cheeks  slightly 
tinged,  her  eyebrows  contracted,  her 
teeth  clenched,  and  animated  by  the 
fixed  idea  of  escaping  her  ravishers, 
fatigue  seemed  to  have  no  mastery  over 
her.  It  was  with  a  feeling  of  indescrib 
able  joy  that  she  mounted  the  fresh 
steed  the  Indian  brought  her. 

Owing  to  Eagle-wing's  bold  stroke, 
the  fugitives  had  a  considerable  advance 
on  their  pursuers ;  for  the  Apaches,  as 
they  came  up  to  the  spot  where  their 
two  companions  had  been  killed,  leaped 
off  their  horses,  and  surrounded  their 
corpses  with  lamentations. 

Eagle-wing  understood  that  this  flight 
could  not  last,  and  that  sooner  or  later 
they  must  die  or  yield;  he  therefore 
altered  his  tactics. 

At  a  little  distance  from  the  spot 
where  they  now  were  the  Gila  was  con 
tracted  ;  the  river,  reduced  to  a  width 
of  one  hundred  and  fifty  yards  at  the 
most,  ran  between  two  wooded  hills. 

"  We  are  lost,"  he  hurriedly  said  to 
his  companion,  "  if  we  continue  to  fly 
thus.  A  desperate  resolve  can  alone 
save  us." 

"  Let  us  try  it  at  all  risks,"  the  maiden 
answered,  intrepidly,  with  quivering  lip 
and  flashing  eye. 

"  Come  !"  he  continued. 

Dona  Clara  followed  him  without 
hesitation  to  the  rugged  bank  of  the 
river,  when  the  warrior  stopped. 

"There,"  he  said,  hoarsely,  as  he 
pointed  with  a  gesture  full  of  nobility 
to  the  Apaches  coming  up  at  full  speed, 
**  slavery,  infamy,  and  death.  Here," 
he  continued,  as  he  pointed  to  the  river, 
"  death,  perhaps,  but  liberty." 

"  Let  us  be  free  or  die  !"  she  replied. 

As  we  have  said,  the  river  ran  be 
tween  two  elevated  banks,  and  the  fugi 
tives  were  now  standing  like  two  eques 
trian  statues  on  the  top  of  a  hillock 
twenty  or  five-and-twenty  feet  in  height, 
from  which  they  must  throw  themselves 
into  the  river,  an  enormous  leap  for  the 
horses  which  ran  a  risk  of  being  crushed 
in  falling,  and  dragging  their  riders 
down  with  them.  But  any  other  means 
of  flight  had  become  impossible. 

The   Apaches,   spread   all   over  the 


plain,  had  succeeded  in  surrounding  the 
fugitives. 

"  Has  my  sister  decided  ?"  the  Indian 
a&iied. 

Dona  Clara  took  a  glance  around  her. 

The  red-skins,  headed  by  Black  Cat, 
were  scarce  one  hundred  and  fifty  yards 
distant. 

"  Let  us  go,  in  Heaven's  name,"  she 
said. 

"  May  Natosh  protect  us  !"  the  In 
dian  said. 

They  energetically  pressed  the  flanks 
of  their  horses,  lifting  them  at  the  same 
moment,  and  the  two  noble  animals 
leaped  into  the  river,  uttering  a  snort 
of  terror. 

The  Apaches  arrived  at  this  moment 
on  the  brow  of  the  hill,  and  could  not 
restrain  a  yell  of  disappointment  and 
wrath  at  the  sight  of  the  desperate  act. 

The  waters  had  closed  over  the  fugi 
tives,  sending  up  to  heaven  a  cloud  of 
spray,  but  the  horses  soon  reappeared 
swimming  vigorously  toward  the  other 
bank. 

The  Indians  had  halted  on  the  hill, 
insulting  by  their  yells  and  threats  the 
victims  who  escaped  by  such  a  prodigy 
of  daring. 

One  of  them,  urged  by  his  fury,  and 
unable  to  pull  up  his  horse  in  time, 
plunged  into  the  Gila  ;  but,  having  ta 
ken  his  precautions  badly,  the  full  was 
mortal  to  the  horse. 

The  Indian  slipped  off,  and  began  stri 
king  out  for  the  bank. 

Instead  of  continuing  his  flight,  as  he 
should  have  done,  Eagle-wing,  impelled 
by  that  spirit  of  bravado  natural  to  the 
red-skins,  re-entered  the  river  without 
hesitation,  and,  at  the  moment  when  the 
Apache  warrior  re-appeared  on  the  sur 
face,  he  bent  over,  seized  him  by  his 
long  hair,  and  buried  his  knife  in  his 
throat.  Then,  turning  to  his  enemies, 
who  watched  with  a  shudder  this  terri 
ble  drama,  he  drew  up  the  wretch  to 
his  saddle-bow,  scalped  him,  and  bran 
dishing  this  sanguinary  trophy  with  an 
air  of  triumph,  he  uttered  his  war-yell. 

The  Apaches  poured  a  shower  of  bul 
lets  and  arrows  round  the  Coras  Sach 
em,  who,  standing  motionless  in  the 
middle  of  the  river,  still  waved  his  hor 
rible  trophy.  At  length  he  turned  his 


66 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


horse's  head,  and  rejoined  his  compan 
ion,  who  was  awaiting  him  timorously 
on  the  bank. 

"  Let  us  go,"  he  said,  as  he  fastened 
the  scalp  to  his  waist-belt.  "  The  Apa 
ches  are  dogs,  who  can  do  nought  but 
bark." 

11  Let  us  go,"  she  replied,  as  she  turn 
ed  her  head  away  in  horror. 

At  the  moment  when  they  started 
again  without  troubling  themselves 
about  their  enemies,  who,  scattered 
along  the  other  bank,  were  eagerly  see 
king  a  ford,  Eagle-wing  perceived  a 
cloud  of  dust,  which,  on  dissipating, 
permitted  him  to  see  a  party  of  horse 
men  galloping  up  at  lightning  speed. 
v  "  There  is  no  hope  left,"  he  muttered. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

THE    SUCCOR. 

WE  will  leave  Eagle-wing  and  Dona 
Clara  for  a  moment,  and  return  to 
Bloodson's  Teocali. 

A  few  minutes  before  sunrise,  Valen 
tine  awoke. 

"  Up,"  he  said  to  his  companions,  "  it 
is  the  hour  for  starting." 

Don  Pablo  and  Shaw  opened  their 
eyes  and  got  ready  ;  but  Curumilla  was 
not  there. 

"Oh,  oh,"  the  hunter  said;  "the 
chief  is  up  already,  1  fancy.  Let  us  go 
djjwn  to  the  plain.  We  shall  probably 
soon  come  across  him." 

The  three  men  left  the  grotto,  and 
began,  by  the  uncertain  rays  of  the 
moon,  sliding  down  the  abrupt  sides  of 
the  Teocali,  leaving  their  comrades 
asleep. 

A  few  minutes  later,  they  reached 
the  plain,  where  Curumilla  was  waiting 
for  them,  holding  four  horses  by  the 
bridle. 

Valentine  gave  a  start  of  surprise. 

"  We  had  agreed  to  go  on  foot, 
chief,"  he  said.  "  Have  you  forgotten 
that?" 

"  No,"  the  other  replied,  laconically. 

"  Then,  why  the  deuce  did  you  saddle 
these  horses,  which  are  useless  to  us  ?" 

The  Indian  shook  his  head. 


"  We  shall  be  better  on  horseback," 
he  said. 

"Still,"  Don  Pablo  observed,  "I 
fancy  that  it's  better  to  follow  a  trail  on 
foot,  as  you  said  yourself  yesterday, 
Don  Valentine." 

The  latter  reflected  for  an  instant; 
then,  turning  to  the  young  man,  he  an 
swered  him  with  a  significant  toss  of 
the  head  : 

"  Curumilla  is  a  prudent  man.  We 
have  lived  together  for  nearly  fifteen 
years,  and  I  have  always  found  it  best 
to  follow  his  advice.  Only  once  I 
wanted  to  have  my  own  way,  and  then 
I  all  but  lost  my  scalp.  We  will 
mount,  Don  Pablo.  The  chief  has  his 
reasons  for  acting  as  he  is  now  doing, 
as  the  result  will  in  all  probability 
prove." 

The  hunters  leaped  into  the  saddle, 
and,  after  a  farewell  glance  at  the  Teo 
cali,  where  their  friends  were  resting, 
they  let  their  horses  feel  the  spur. 

"  In  what  direction  are  we  going?" 
Don  Pablo  asked. 

"  Let  us  first  gain  the  river  bank," 
Valentine  answered.  "  So  soon  as  we 
have  got  there,  we  shall  see  what  we 
have  to  do.  But,  mind  we  do  not  se 
parate  ;  for  in  the  darkness  it  will  be 
almost  impossible  to  find  each  other." 

On  the  prairies,  the  only  roads  that 
exist,  and  can  be  followed,  are  paths 
traced  for  ages  by  buffaloes,  elks,  and 
wild  beasts.  These  paths  form  laby 
rinths;  of  which  the  Indians  alone 
hold  the  thread  ;  hunters,  however  well 
acquainted  they  may  be  with  the  prai 
ries,  only  enter  them  with  the  utmost 
precautions.  When  they  fancy  they 
recognize  a  path,  they  will  not  leave  it 
under  any  pretext,  certain  that  if  they 
Were  so  imprudent  as  to  turn  to  the 
right  or  left,  they  would  not  fail  to  lose 
themselves,  and  have  infinite  difficulty 
in  finding  their  road  again. 

Valentine  was,  perhaps,  the  only 
white  hunter  on  the  prairies  who,  ow 
ing  to  the  profound  knowledge  he  pos 
sessed  of  the  desert,  could  'enter  this 
maze  with  impunity. 

However,  as  all  the  paths  inevitably 
lead  to  the  banks  of  rivers,  and  this 
direction  was  the  one  the  little  party 
was  to  follow,  Valentine's  remark  was 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


67 


only  intended  to  moderate  Don  Pablo's 
ardor,  and  compel  him  to  march  at  his 
side. 

After  a  hurried  ride  of  two  hours, 
the  hunters  at  length  found  themselves 
on  the  banks  of  the  Gila,  which  rolled 
its  yellow  and  turbid  waters  along  be 
neath  them. 

At  the  moment  when  they  reached 
the  river,  the  sun  rose  majestically  on 
the  horizon  in  a  mist  of  purpled  clouds. 

"  Let  us  stop  here  a  moment,"  Valen 
tine  said,  "  in  order  to  form  our  plan  of 
action." 

"  We  do  not  need  a  long  discussion 
for  that."  Don  Pablo  replied. 

"  You  think  so  ?" 

"  Hang  it  all,  the  only  thing  to  be 
done,  I  fancy,  is  to  follow  Red  Cedar's 
trail." 

"  True :  but  to  follow  it  we  must 
first  find  it." 

"  Granted  :  so  let  us  look  for  it." 

"  That  is  what  we  are  about  to  do." 

At  this  moment  furious  yells  were 
heard  not  far  from  them. 

The  hunters,  surprised,  looked  about 
them  anxiously,  and  soon  saw  a  band 
.of  Indians  running  in  every  direction 
along  the  river  bank. 

These  were  not  more  than  half  a 
league  distant. 

"  Oh,  oh,"  Valentine  said,  "  what's 
the  meaning  of  this  ?" 

"  They  are  Apaches,"  Shaw  re 
marked. 

"  I  can  see  that,"  the  Frenchman  said. 
"  But  what  the  deuce  is  the  matter  with 
those  devils  ?  On  my  honor,  they  seem 
mad." 

"Wah!"  Curumilla  suddenly  ex 
claimed,  who  was  also  looking,  though 
not  speaking,  as  was  his  wont. 

"  What's  the  matter  now  ?"  Valen 
tine  asked,  as  he  turned  to  the  chief. 

"Look,"  the  latter  replied,  as  he 
stretched  out  his  arm,  "  Dona  Clara  !" 

"  What,  Dona  Clara  !"  the  hunter  ex 
claimed,  with  a  start  of  surprise. 

"  Yes,"  Curumilla  observed,  "  my 
brother  must  look." 

"  It  is,  in  truth,  Dona  Clara,"  Valen 
tine  said  after  a  minute ;  "  what  on 
earth  can  she  be  doing  here  V 

And  without  caring  for  the  Indians, 
who,  on  seeing  him,  would  not  fail  to 


start  in  pursuit,  he  hurried  at  full  gallop 
in  the  direction  of  the  maiden. 

His  comrades  followed  him  ;  not 
caring  for  the  width  of  the  stream  at 
this  spot,  they  plunged  in,  resolved  to 
reach  the  other  bank,  and  fly  to  the 
help  of  the  maiden,  under  a  shower  of 
arrows  which  the  Indians  fired  at  them, 
while  uttering  yells  of  rage  at  these 
new  enemies,  who  rose  as  if  by  en 
chantment  before  them. 

Eagle-wing  and  Dona  Clara  were 
still  flying,  unheeding  the  shouts  of  the 
hunters;  the  horsemen  the  Coras  had 
perceived  were  Apache  warriors  return 
ing  to  their  village  from  a  buffalo  hunt. 
Although  they  were  ignorant  of  what 
had  happened,  the  sight  of  their  friends 
galloping  along  the  river  bank,  and  the 
two  riders  escaping  at  full  speed,  re 
vealed  the  truth  to  them,  that  is  to  say, 
that  prisoners  had  escaped,  and  war 
riors  of  their  tribe  were  in  pursuit  of 
them. 

The  fiver  was  soon  crowded  with 
Apache  warriors,  who  crossed  it  to  catch 
up  the  fugitives.  The  pursuit  was  be 
ginning  to  reassume  alarming1  propor 
tions  for  Eagle-wing  and  Dona  Clara, 
in  spite  of  the  considerable  advance 
they  still  had  on  their  enemies. 

The  Gila  is  one  of  the  largest  and 
most  majestic  rivers  in  the  Far  West ; 
its  course  is  winding  and  capricious — 
it  is  full  of  rapids,  cataracts,  and  islets 
formed  by  the  change  of  bed  which  it 
effects  when,  by  an  abundant  overflow 
of  water,  it  spreads  far  and  wide  over 
the  country,  inundating  it  for  four  or 
five  leagues  around. 

Eagle-wing  had  seen  that  the  only 
chance  of  safety  left  him  was  not  on 
the  prairie,  where  he  had  not  a  single 
covert  to  attempt  a  desperate  resist 
ance,  but  on  one  of  those  little  islets 
of  the  Gila,  whose  rocks  and  thick 
scrubs  would  offer  a  temporary  shelter, 
that  could  not  be  violated  with  im 
punity.  His  vagabond  course  had, 
therefore,  no  other  object  but  to  re 
turn  to  the  river  by  a  zig-zag  route. 

Valentine  and  his  comrades  had  not 
lost  one  cf  the  fugitive's  movements  ; 
although  they  were  themselves  hotly 
pursued,  they  anxiously  followed  the 
incidents  of  this  terrible  struggle. 


68 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


"  They  are  lost !"  Don  Pablo  sudden 
ly  shouted.  "  That  Indian  is  mad,  on 
my  soul.  See,  he  is  trying  to  turn 
back  in  this  direction — it  is  running  in 
to  the  wolf's  throat !" 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  Valentine  an 
swered;  "  the  tactics  of  that  man  are,  on 
the  contrary,  extremely  simple,  and  at 
the  same  time  most  clever.  The  Apa 
ches  have  guessed  them;  for  look, 
they  are  trying  to  cut  him  off  from  the 
river  as  far  as  they  can." 

"  'Tis  true,  by  heavens !"  Shaw  said  ; 
"  we  must  help  that  man  in  his  manoeu 
vre." 

"  That  depends  on  ourselves,"  Valen 
tine  answered,  quickly ;  "  let  us  turn 
and  suddenly  attack  the  Apaches  ;  per 
haps  that  diversion  will  enable  our 
friends  to  succeed." 

"  Well,  that  is  an  excellent  idea,"  re 
marked  Don  Pablo  ;  "  how  wise  it  was 
of  Cnrumilla  to  make  us  ride." 

"  What  did  1  say  to  you  V  Valentine 
said  with  a  smile.  "  Oh  !  the  chief  is 
an  invaluable  man." 

Curumilla  smiled  proudly,  but  main 
tained  silence. 

"  Are  you  ready  to  follow  me  and  be 
killed,  if  necessary  to  save  Dona  Clara?" 
Valentine  went  on. 

"  Cascara«!"  the  hunters  answered. 

"  Forward,  then,  in  heaven's  name  ! 
each  of  us  must  be  worth  ten  men  !" 
the  Frenchman  shouted,  as  he  suddenly 
turned  his  horse  on  its  hind  legs. 

The  four  men  rushed  at  full  speed  on 
the  Apaches,  uttering  a  formidable  yell. 
On  arriving  within  range  they  discharg 
ed  their  rifles,  and  four  Apaches  fell. 

The  Indians,  intimidated  by  this  sud 
den  attack,  which  they  were  far  from 
anticipating,  dispersed  in  every  direc 
tion  to  avoid  the  shock  of  their  daring 
adversaries ;  then,  collecting  in  a  com 
pact  mass,  they  charged  in  their  turn, 
uttering  their  war-cry,  and  brandishing 
their  weapons. 

But  the  hunters  received  them  with  a 
second  discharge,  which  hurled  four 
more  Indians  on  the  sand,  and  then 
started  in  different  directions  to  collect 
again,  one  hundred  and  fifty  yards  fur 
ther  on. 

"  Courage,  my  friends  !"  Valentine 
cried,  "  those  scoundrels  do  not  know 


to  use  their  weapons;  if  we  liked 
we  could  hold  them  in  check  the  whole 
day." 

"  That  will  not  be  necessary,"  Don 
Pablo  remarked  ;  "  look  there  !" 

In  fact,  the  fugitives,  profiting  by  the 
moment's  respite  which  the  hunters'  at 
tack  on  the  Apaches  granted  them,  had 
reached  an  islet  about  one  hundred 
yards  in  circumference,  in  the  middle  of 
the  stream,  where  they  were  temporari 
ly  in  safety. 

"  It  is  now  our  turn,"  Valentine  loud 
ly  shouted ;  "  a  final  charge  to  drive 
those  devils  back,  and  then  to  the  islet!" 

"  Hurrah  !  hurrah  !"  the  hunters  then 
shouted,  and  they  rushed  on  the  Ap 
aches. 

There  were  a  few  minutes  of  hand-to- 
hand  fighting,  but  the  Apaches  at  length 
broke,  and  the  hunters,  freed  by  prodi 
gies  of  valor,  retreated  to  the  river 
bank,  from  which  they  were  not  more 
than  twenty  yards  distant. 

The  others  plunged  into  the  river, 
but  suddenly  Valentine's  horse  stood 
up,  gave  a  prodigious  bound,  and  fell 
back  on  its  rider — the  noble  animal  was 
literally  riddled  with  arrows. 

The   Apaches  uttered   a   formidable  t 
yell  of  joy,  on  seeing  one  of  their  ene 
mies   rolling  on  the  ground,  and  they 
rushed  up  to  scalp  him. 

But  Valentine  had  risen  to  his  feet 
immediately;  kneeling  behind  the  body 
of  his  horse,  which  he  converted  into  a 
breastwork,  he  discharged  at  the  Indi 
ans  first  his  rifle,  and  then  his  pistols, 
being  supported  by  the  fire  of  the  hun 
ters,  who  had  reached  the  islet. 

The  Apaches,  exasperated  at  being 
held  in  check  by  one  man,  rushed  upon 
him,  as  if  to  crush  him  beneath  their 
weight. 

Valentine,  to  whom  his  fire-arms  were 
now  useless,  seized  his  rifle  by  the  bar 
rel,  and  employed  it  like  a  mace,  falling 
back  step  by  step,  but  always  keeping 
his  front  to  the  enemy. 

By  a  prodigious  chance,  Valentine 
had  not  yet  received  a  wound,  save  a 
few  unimportant  scratches,  for  the  Indi 
ans  were  so  close  together  that  they 
could  not  use  their  arms  for  fear  of 
wounding  one  another. 

But  Valentine  felt  his  strength  desert- 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


69 


ing  him,  his  ears  buzzed,  his  temples 
throbbed  as  if  bursting;  a  veil  was 
gradually  spread  over  his  eyes,  and  his 
\vearied  arms  only  dealt  uncertain 
blows. 

Human  strength  has  its  limits,  and 
however  great  the  energy  and  will  of  a 
man  may  be,  the  moment  arrives  when 
further  fighting  becomes  impossible,  his 
strength  betrays  his  courage,  and  he  is 
forced  to  confess  himself  vanquished. 

Valentine  was  reduced  to  this  su 
preme  point.  His  rifle  broke  in  hfs 
hands;  he  was  disarmed,  and  at  the 
mercy  of  his  ferocious  enemies.  All 
was  over  with  the  gallant  Frenchman. 

But  the  hunters,  whom,  the  Indians 
had  forgotten  in  the  heat  of  the  action, 
seeing  the  imminent  peril  of  their  com 
panion,  resolutely  hurried  to  his  aid. 

While  Eagle-wing,  Don  Pablo,  and 
Shaw  attacked  the  Indians  and  com 
pelled  them  to  fall  back,  Curumilla  car 
ried  off  his  friend  on  his  shoulders. 

The  contest  began  again,  more  obsti 
nate  and  terrible  than  before,  but,  after 
extraordinary  efforts,  the  hunters  suc 
ceeded  in  regaining  the  islet,  in  spite  of 
the  stubborn  resistance  of  the  red-skins. 

Valentine  had  fainted,  and  Curumilla 
carried  him  to  a  perfectly  sheltered 
spot,  and  silently  busied  himself  with 
recalling  him  to  life.  But  fatigue  alone 
had  produced  the  hunter's  syncope,  so 
he  soon  reopened  his  eyes,  and  ten 
minutes  later  he  was  perfectly  restored. 

When  the  Apaches  saw  their  enemies 
in  safety,  they  ceased  a  contest  hence 
forth  useless,  and  retired  out  of  rifle 
range. 

The  day  passed  without  fresh  inci 
dents,  and  the  hunters  were  able  to  in 
trench  themselves  as  well  as  they  could 
on  the  islet,  which  they  had  succeeded 
in  reaching  with  so  much  toil. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


ON     THE     ISLAND. 

THE  sun  had  descended  on  the  hori 
zon,  and  darkness  was  invading  the  sky  ; 
ere  long  a  dense  veil  of  gloom  was 
spread  over  the  entire  face  of  nature. 

The  Indians  seemed  to  have  given  up 
all  idea  of  attacking  the  whites,  but  did 
not  leave  the  river-bank ;  on  the  'con 
trary,  their  number  momentarily  in 
creased. 

On  either  bank  of  the  Gila  they  had 
lit  large  fires,  and  put  up  their  tents. 

The  situation  of  the  fugitives  was  far 
from  reassuring ;  sheltered  on  an  island, 
whence  they  could  not  escape  without 
being  seen  by  their  vigilant  enemies, 
their  provisions  were  reduced  to  a  few 
handfuls  of  maize  boiled  in  water,  and 
a  little  pemmican.  Their  ammunition 
consisted  of  twenty  charges  of  powder 
at  the  most. 

The  hunters  lit  no  fire,  for  fear  of  let 
ting  the  Apaches  know  the  exact  spot 
where  they  were ;  collected  in  the  mid 
dle  of  the  island  in  a  dense  thicket,  they 
watched  over  Dona  Clara,  who,  over 
whelmed  by  the  terrible  emotions  of  the 
day,  had  yielded  to  sleep,  and  was  lying 
on  a  bed  of  dry  leaves. 

Valentine  and  his  friends  watched  the 
movements  of  the  enemy  by  the  light 
of  their  bivouac  fires.  Opposite  the 
island,  and  round  a  fire  larger  than  the 
rest,  several  chiefs,  among  whom  Black 
Cat  could  be  clearly  distinguished,  ap 
peared  engaged  in  a  lively  discussion. 

At  length,  two  men  rose  and  advanced 
slowly  to  the  water's  edge ;  on  reaching 
it,  they  took  off  their  bufflilo-robes, 
raised  them  above  their  heads,  and  let 
them  float  in  the  breeze. 

" Do  you  see  that?"  Don  Pablo  said 
to  Valentine.  "  The  red-skins  wish  to 
parley  with  us." 

"  What  the  deuce  can  they  have  to 
say  to  us  V1  the  hunter  answered  ;  "  the 
demons  must  know  in  what  extremities 
we  are." 

"No  matter.  I  fancy  we  shall  do 
well  by  receiving  them. 

"  What  does  Eagle-wing  think  of  it  ?" 
Valentine  asked  the  Coras,  who,  crouch 
ed  near  them  with  his  head  resting  on 


70 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


the  palms  of  his  hands,  was  reflecting 
deeply. 

"The  Apaches-  are  foxes  without 
courage,"  the  sachem  answered;  "let 
us  hear  what  they  want." 

"  And  you,  penni,  what  is  your  opi 
nion  ?"  the  hunter  said,  turning  to  Curu- 
inilla. 

"  My  brother  is  prudent,"  the  Aucas 
Ulmen  replied  ;  "  we  can  hear  the  pro 
positions  of  the  Apaches." 

"  Well,  as  you  all  wish  it,  I  consent; 
but  I  feel  certain  that  no  good  will  come 
of  this  interview." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  Shaw  remarked. 

•."  That  is  not  my  opinion,"  Don  Pab 
lo  said. 

"  Koutonepi  must  not  receive  them 
here,"  Curuniilla  went  on.  "  The  Apa 
che  are  very  crafty ;  they  have  an  ex 
tremely  forked  tongue,  and  the  eyes  of 
tiger-cats." 

"That  is  true,"  said  Valentine;  "let 
us  go  and  see  what  they  want." 

He  rose,  making  Curumilla  a  sign  to 
follow  him;  and  after  assuring  himself 
that  his  arms  were  in  good  condition, 
he  walked  to  the  end  of  the  island. 

The  Indians  were  still  continuing 
their  signals,  and  Valentine  raised  his 
hands  to  his  mouth  in  the  shape  of  a 
speaking-trumpet. 

"  What  do  the  Buffalo  Apaches 
want  ?"  he  shouted. 

"  The  chiefs  have  to  speak  with  the 
pale-faces,  but  they  cannot  hear  them  at 
such  a  distance.  Will  the  pale-faces 
promise  them  safety  if  the  warriors 
come  to  them  ?" 

"Come,"  Valentine  replied,  "but 
mind,  only  two  of  you." 

"  Good,"  the  chief  said,  "  two  war 
riors  will  come." 

The  Apaches  consulted  for  an  instant 
together,  and  then  took  from  among  the 
lofty  grass  in  which  it  was  concealed  a 
light  raft,  which  the  hunters  had  not  no 
ticed,  and  prepared  to  gain  the  island. 

The  whites  awaited  them,  resting  on 
their  rifles,  apparently  careless,  but 
anxiously  watching  the  shrubs  on  the 
bank,  behind  which  the  Apache  warriors 
were  doubtless  hidden,  and  watching 
them  in  their  turn. 

The  Indians  landed  and  walked  to 
ward  the  hunters  with  all  the  etiquette  ! 


prescribed  by  the  law  of  the  prairies. 

On  seeing  that  the  Indians  were  un 
armed,  Valentine  handed  his  rifle  to 
Don  Pablo,  who  laid  it  a  few  paces  be 
hind  him. 

"  Good,"  Black  Cat  muttered,  with  a 
smile;  "my  brother  acts  loyally.  I 
expected  that  from  him." 

"Hum,  chief!"  Valentine  answered, 
sharply  ;  "  enough  of  compliments — 
what  have  you  to  say  to  me  ?" 

"My  pale  brother  does  not  like  to 
lose  time  in  vain  words,"  the  Indian 
said ;  "  he  is  a  wise  man.  I  bring  him 
the  propositions  of  the  principal  chiefs 
of  the  tribe." 

"  Let  us  hear  them,  chief.  If  they 
are  just,  although  we  are  not  in  so  bad 
a  position  as  you  may  suppose,  we  may 
possibly  accept  them,  merely  for  the 
sake  of  saving  bloodshed." 

"  There  are  at  this  moment  more  than 
two  hundred  warriors  assembled  on  the 
river  bank;  to-morrow  there  will  be 
five  hundred.  Now,  as  the  pale-faces 
have  no  canoes,  as  they  are  not  otters 
to  plunge  unseen  into  the  'endless 
river,'  or  birds  to  soar  in  the  air " 

"  What  next  ?"  Valentine  interrupted 
him  impertinently. 

"  How  will  my  brothers  eat,  when 
the  little  provision  they  have  is  ex 
hausted  ?  with  what  will  my  brothers 
defend  themselves  when  they  have 
burnt  all  their  powder  ]" 

"I  presume  that  is  of  little  conse 
quence  to  you,  chief,"  the  hunter  an 
swered,  with  ill-concealed  impatience. 
"  You  did  not  ask  the  interview  I  have 
granted  to  talk  nonsense,  so  I  must  ask 
you  to  come  to  facts." 

"  I  only  wished  to  prove  to  my  bro 
ther  that  we  are  well-informed,  and 
know  that  the  pale-faces  have  no  means 
of  flight  or  safety.  If,  then,  my  bro 
thers  are  willing,  they  can  rejoin  their 
nations,  without  being  impeded  by  us 
in  their  retreat." 

"  Ah,  ah  !  and  in  what  way,  chief,  if 
you  please  ?" 

"By  delivering  to  us  immediately  two 
persons  who  are  here." 

"  Only  think  of  that !  And  who  may 
these  two  persons  be  ?" 

"The  White  Lily  and  the  Coras 
Chief." 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


71 


"  Listen,  chief:  if  you  took  the  troubl 
to  come  here  in  order  to  make  me  such 
a  proposal,  you  were  wrong  to   leav 
your  comrades,"  Valentine  said,  with  a 
grin. 

"  My  brother  will  reflect,"  the  Apach 
said,  with  perfect  calmness. 

"  I  never  reflect  when  the  question  is 
the  commission  of  an  act  of  cowardice 
chief,"  Valentine  answered,  sharply, 
"  We  have  known  each  other  for  a  long 
time ;  many  of  your  warriors  have  been 
sent  by  me  to  the  happy  hunting- 
grounds.  I  have  often  fought  against 
you,  and  never  on  the  desert  have  you 
or  your  brothers  had  to  reproach  me 
with  an  action  unworthy  of  an  honest 
hunter." 

"  That  is  true,"  the  two  chiefs  an 
swered,  with  a  deferential  bow;  "my 
brother  is  beloved  and  esteemed  by  all 
the  Apaches." 

"  Thanks.  Now  listen  to  .me :  the 
maiden  you  call  White  Lily,  and  whom 
you  made  prisoner,  is  free  by  right  and 
in  fact,  and  you  know  very  well  that 
you  have  no  right  to  ask  her  of  me." 

"Several  of  our  brothers,  the  most 
valiant  warriors  of  our  tribe,  have  gone 
to  the  happy  hunting-grounds  before 
their  hour  marked  by  the  Wacondah : 
their  blood  cries  for  vengeance." 

"  That  does  not  concern  me  ;  these 
were  killed  fighting  like  brave  men,  and 
those  are  the  chances  of  war." 

"My  brother  has  spoken  well,"  Black 
Cat  said.  "  The  Lily  is  free ;  she  can 
remain  with  the  warriors  of  her  nation. 
I  consent  to  it.  But  my  brother  can 
not  refuse  to  give  up  to  me  the  Indian 
hidden  in  his  camp." 

"  That  Indian  is  my  friend,"  the  hun 
ter  answered  nobly  ;  "  he  is  not  my 
prisoner,  that  I  can  deliver  him  up.  I 
have  no  right  to  compel  him  to  leave 
me.  If  he  prefers  to  remain  with  us, 
the  chief  knows  that  hospitality  is  sa 
cred  on  the  prairie ;  if  Moukapec 
wishes  to  return  to  his  brothers,  he  is 
free.  But  what  interest  have  the  Apa 
ches  in  my  giving  this  man  into  their 
hands?" 

"  He  has  betrayed  his  nation,  and 
must  be  punished." 

"  Do  you  imagine,  chief,  that  I  should 
deliberately,  and  stifling  every  feeling 


of  gratitude  within  me,  place  in  your 
hands  a  man  I  love,  whose  devotion  is 
known  to  me,  in  order  that  you  may 
kill  him  with  horrible  torture  ?  On  my 
soul,  chief,  you  must  be  mad." 

"  You  must  do  it,  or  woe  to  you  !" 
Black- Cat  said  with  a  degree  of  heat  he 
could  not  repress. 

"It  shall  not  be,"  Valentine  answer 
ed  coldly. 

"  It  shall  be !"  a  calm  and  haughty 
voice  said. 

And  Eagle-wing  suddenly  appeared 
in  the  midst  of  the  group. 

"  What !"  Valentine  exclaimed  with 
amazement,  "  you  weuld  give  yourself 
up  to  torture  1  I  will  not  suffer  it, 
chief:  remain  with  your  friends,  we 
will  save  you,  or  perish  together." 

The  Coras  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"  No  !"  he  said,  "  I  cannot  do  that,  it 
would  be  cowardly.  The  White  Lily 
of  the  Valley  must*  be  saved.  I  have 
sworn  to  her  father  to  devote  myself  to 
her,  and  my  brother  Koutonepi  must 
let  me  accomplish  my  promise." 

"  But  these  men,"  Valentine  conti 
nued  to  urge,  "  have  no  claim  on  you." 

Moukapec  let  his  head  sink. 

"  By  Nuestra  Senora  del  Pilar,"  Don 
Pablo  interrupted  him  with  emotion, 
"  we  cannot  thus  abandon  a  man  who 
bas  done  us  many  services." 

Valentine,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ground,  was  reflecting. 

"  Good,"  Black  Cat  went  on ;  "  Eagle- 
wing  is  here,  the  pale-faces  are  free  : 
ihey  will  return  to  their  great  lodges 
whenever  they  please  :  they  will  find 
the  roads  open.  The  Apaches  have 
only  one  word ;  let  the  warrior  follow 
me." 

The  Indian  took  a  parting  glance  at 
lis  friends,  and  a  sigh  escaped  from  his 
hest;    but  with   a   superior   effort   he 
overcame  the  sorrow  that  choked  him, 
lis  face  assumed  its  usual  mask  of  stoi- 
ism,  and  turning   to   the  two  Apache 
chiefs,  he  said  in  a  firm  voice  : 

"  1  am  ready  :  let  us  go." 

The  hunters  exchanged  a  glance  of 
discouragement,  but  they  made  no  at- 
,empt  to  oppose  the  Coras'  resolution, 
or  they  knew  that  it  would  be  futile. 

But  at  this  moment  Dona  Clara  sud 
denly  appeared,  walked  boldly  up  to 


72 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


the  Indian,  and  touched  him  lightly  on 
the  shoulder. 

"  Stay  !"  she  exclaimed.  "  I  will  not 
have  you  go,  chief." 

Eagle-wing  turned  as  if  he  had  re 
ceived  an-  electric  shock,  and  gave  the 
maiden  a  glance  of  undefinable  expres 
sion;  but  he  overcame  this  emotion, 
and  reassumed  his  apparent  coolness. 

"  I  must  go,"  he  said  softly,  "  the 
Lily  must  not  restrain  me ;  she  is 
doubtless  ignorant  that  her  safety  de 
pends  on  my  departure." 

"  I  have  heard  everything,"  she 
quickly  retorted.  "  I  know  the  odious 
propositions  these  men  have  dared  to 
make,  and  the  condition  they  had  auda 
city  to  insist  on." 

"  Well,  why  then  does  my  sister  wish 
to  stop  me1?" 

"  Because,"  the  maiden  energetically 
exclaimed,  "  I  will  not  accept  that  con 
dition." 

"  By  Heavens  !  that  is  fine,"  Valen 
tine  said  joyfully;  "  that  is  what  I  call 
speaking." 

"  Yes,"  the  young  lady  continued, 
"  in  my  father's  name  I  order  you  not 
to  leave  this  island,  chief — in  my  fath 
er's  name,  who,  were  he  here,  would 
order  you  as  I  do." 

"  I  answer  for  that,"  Don  Pablo  said ; 
"  my  father  has  too  noble  a  heart  to  as 
sent  to  an  act  of  cowardice." 

The  maiden  turned  to  the  Indian 
chief,  who  had  been  stoically  witness 
ing  the  scene. 

"  Begone,  red-skins,"  she  went  on 
with  a  majestic  accent,  impossible  to 
render,  "  you  see  that  all  your  victims 
escape  you.'; 

"  Honor  bids  me  go,"  the  warrior 
murmured  feebly. 

Dona  Clara  took  his  hand  between 
hers,  and  looked  at  him  softly. 

"  Moukapec  !"  she  said  to  him,  in 
her  melodious  and  pure  voice,  "  do  you 
not  know  that  yours  would  be  a  useless 
sacrifice  1  The  Apaches  are  only  striv 
ing  to  deprive  us  of  our  most  devoted 
defender,  that  they  may  make  an  easier 
conquest  of  us.  They  are  very  treache 
rous  Indians  ;  remain  with  us." 

Eagle-wing  hesitated  for  a  moment, 
and  the  two  chiefs  tried  in  vain  to  read 


on  his  face  the  feelings  that  affected 
him. 

During  several  seconds,  a  leaden  si 
lence  weighed  on  this  group  of  men, 
whose  hearts  could  be  heard  beating. 

At  length  the  Coras  raised  his  head, 
and  answered  with  an  effort : 

"  You  insist ;  I  remain  here." 

Then  he  turned  to  the  chief,  who  was 
waiting  anxiously. 

"  Go,"  he  said  to  them  in  a  firm 
voice,  "return  to  the  tents  of  your 
tribe.  Tell  your  brothers,  who  were 
never  mine,  but  who  at  times  have 
granted  me  a  cordial  hospitality,  that 
Moukapec,  the  great  Sachem  of  the 
Coras  of  the  lakes,  takes  back  his  liber 
ty  :  he  gives  up  all  claim  to  fire  and 
water  in  their  villages ;  he  wishes  to 
have  nothing  more  in  common  with 
them;  and  if  the  Apache  dogs  prowl 
round  him,  and  seek  him,  they  will  find 
him  ever  ready  to  meet  them  face  to 
face  on  the  war-path.  I  have  spoken." 

The  Buffalo  Chiefs  had  listened  to 
these  words  with  that  calmness  which 
never  abandons  the  Indians ;  not  a  fea 
ture  on  their  faces  had  quivered. 

When  the  Coras  warrior  finished 
speaking,  Black  Cat  looked  at  him  fix 
edly,  and  replied  to  him  with  a  cold 
and  cutting  accent : 

"  I  have  heard  a  crow,  the  Coras  are 
cowardly  squaws,  to  whom  the  Apache 
warriors  will  give  petticoats.  Mouka 
pec  is  a  prairie  dog,  the  sunbeams  hurt 
his  eyes,  he  will  make  his  lair  with  the 
pale-face  hares,  my  nation  no  longer 
knows  him." 

"  Much  good  may  it  do  him,"  Valen 
tine  remarked  with  a  smile,  while 
Eagle-wing  shrugged  his  shoulders  at 
this  outburst  of  insults.  t 

"  I  retire,"  Black  Cat  continued ; 
"  ere  the  owl  has  twice  saluted  the  sun, 
the  scalps  of  the  pale-faces  will  be  fas 
tened  to  my  girdle.'' 

"  And,"  the  second  chief  added,  "the 
young  men  of  my  tribe  will  make  war- 
whistles  of  the  white  thieves'  bones.'* 

(f  Very  good,"  Valentine  replied,  with 
a  crafty  smile ;  "  try  it,  we  are  ready 
to  receive  you,  and  our  rifles  carry  a 
long  distance." 

"  The    pale-faces    are  boasting    and 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PKAIRIES. 


73 


yelping  dogs,"  Black  Cat  said  again.   " 
shall  soon  return." 

"All   the    better,"   said   Valentine 
(t  but  in  the  meanwhile,  as  I  suppose 
you  have  nothing  more  to  say  to  us, 
fancy  it  is  time  for  you  to  rejoin  your 
friends,  who  must  be  growing  impatien 
at  your  absence." 

Black  Cat  gave  a  start  of  anger  at 
this  parting  sarcasm  ;  but  repressing  th 
passion  that  inflamed  him,  he  foldec 
himself  haughtily  in  his  buffalo  robe,  re 
mounted  the  raft  with  his  comrade,  anc 
they  rapidly  retired  from  the  island. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

SUNBEAM. 

THE  situation  of  the  fugitives  was 
most  critical,  as  the  Indians  had  stated  ; 
the  number  of  their  warriors  hourly  in 
creased,  and  on  both  sides  of  the  island 
there  were  large  encampments,  indi 
cated  by  numerous  fires. 

The  day  passed  in  this  way,  and  there 
was  no  attack.  No  incident  even  dis 
turbed  the  tranquillity  of  the  robbers 
till  about  the  middle  of  the  following 
night.  At  this  moment  the  darkness 
was  thick,  and  not  a  star  glistened  in 
the  sky  ;  the  moon,  obscured  by  clouds, 
only  displayed  her  pallid  disc  at  inter 
vals. 

One  of  those  intense  fogs  which  fre 
quently  prevail  at  this  season  on  the 
liio  Gila,  had  fallen,  and  ended  by  con 
fusing  all  objects ;  the  banks  of  the 
river  had  disappeared  from  sight,  and 
even  the  Indian  camp-fires  were-  no 
longer  visible.  / 

The  hunters,  seated  in  a  circle,  main 
tained  the  deepest  silence ;  each  was 
yielding  to  the  flood  of  bitter  thoughts 
that  rose  from  his  heart. 

All  at  once,  amid  the  silence  of  the 
night,  a  confused  and  indistinct  sound 
was  audible,  like  that  of  a  paddle  strik 
ing  the  side  of  a  canoe. 

"  Hilloh !  what's  the  meaning  of 
this  ?"  Valentine  said.  "  Can  the  Apa 
ches  be  dreaming  of  surprising  us  ?" 

"  Let  us  have  a  look,  at  any  rate/' 
Don  Pablo  remarked. 


The  five  men  rose,  and  glided  silently 
through  the  bushes,  in  the  direction  of 
the  sound  which  had  aroused  them. 

After  proceeding  a  certain  distance, 
Valentine  stopped  to  listen. 

"  I  am  certain  I  was  not  mistaken," 
he  said  to  himself;  "  it  was  the  sound 
produced  by  a  paddle  falling  in  a  canoe 
that  I  heard.  Who  can  have  come  to 
visit  us?  Perhaps  it  is  some  Indian 
deviltry." 

And  the  hunter  sounded  the  darkness 
around  him  with  his  piercing  and  uner 
ring  eye. 

All  at  once,  he  fancied  he  saw  an  ob 
ject  moving  in  the  fog.  He  went  on  ; 
then  after  carefully  examining  this  per 
son,  who  grew  every  moment  more  and 
more  distinct,  he  drew  himself  up,  and. 
leant  on  his  rifle.  % 

"  What  the  deuce  do  you  want  here 
at  this  hour,  Sunbeam,  my  dear  child  T' 
he  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

The  young  Indian  squaw,  for  it  was 
really  she  whom  the  hunter  had  ad< 
dressed,  laid  a  finger  on  her  lip  as  if  re 
commending  prudence. 

"  Follow  me,  Koutonepi,"  she  said  to 
him  so  softly  that  her  voice  resembled 
a  sigh. 

After  going  a  few  yards,  the  girl 
stooped,  and  made  the  hunter  a  sign  to 
follow  her  example. 

"  Look,"  she  said,  pointing  to  one  of 
those  long  and  light  canoes  which  the 
Indians  hollow  out  of  enormous  trees, 
and  which  carry  ten  persons  with  ease. 
"Look." 

Valentine,  in  spite  of  his  self-com 
mand,  had  difficulty  in  suppressing  a 
cry  of  joy.  He  held  out  his  hand,  say 
ing  with  considerable  emotion  : 

"  My  brave  girl  !" 

"  Sunbeam  remembers,"  the  Indian 
girl  replied  with  a  smile,  "  that  Kouton 
epi  saved  her ;  the  heart  of  the  white 
.ady  is  kind,  Sunbeam  wishes  to  save 
them  all." 

The  first  moment  of  emotion  past, 
the  hunter,  who  was  thoroughly  acquain 
ted  with  the  cunning  and  roguery  of  the 
red-skins,  bent  a   scrutinizing  gaze  on 
he  girl. 

The  Indian's  face  had  an  expression 
of  honesty  which  commanded  confi 
dence,  and  Valentine  entered  the  canoe. 


74 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


It  contained  paddles,  provisions,  and, 
what  caused  him  more  pleasure  than  all 
else,  six  large  buffalo  horns,  full  of  gun 
powder,  and  two  bags  of  bullets. 

"  Good  !"  he  said,  "  my  daughter  is 
grateful,  Wacondah  will  protect  her." 

Sunbeam's  face  expanded  at  these 
words. 

At  this  moment  Don  Pablo  and  the 
other  hunters  rejoined  Valentine,  and 
learned  with  delight  what  had  happen 
ed  ;  the  sight  of  the  canoe  restored 
them  all  their  energy. 

Shaw  remained  on  guard,  while  Val 
entine,  accompanied  by  the  others,  and 
Sunbeam,  returned  to  Dona  Clara, 
whom  anxiety  had  aroused. 

"  Here  is  a  new  friend  I  present  to 
you,"  the  hunter  said,  pointing  to  the 
young  Indian,  who  stood  timidly  behind 
him. 

"  Oh  !  I  know  her,"  Dona  Clara  re 
plied,  as  she  embraced  the  girl,  who 
was  quite  confused  by  these  caresses. 

"  But  tell  me,  Sunbeam,"  Valentine 
said,  after  the  expiration  of  a  moment, 
"  how  comes  it  that  you  arrived  here  ?" 

The  Indian  girl  smiled  haughtily. 

"  Unicorn  is  a  great  warrior,"  she  an 
swered  ;  "  he  has  the  glance  of  the  ea 
gle,  he  knows  all  that  happens  in  the 
prairie  ;  he  saw  the  danger  his  brother, 
the  great  pale-face  hunter,  ran,  and  his 
heart  trembled  with  sadness." 

"  Yes,"  Valentine  said,  "  the  chief 
loves  me." 

The  Indian  continued. 

"  Unicorn  sought  a  mode  of  coming 
to  his  brother's  assistance ;  he  was 
wandering  along  the  river-bank  when 
the  fog  supplied  him  with  the  means  he 
so  greatly  desired  :  he  placed  Sunbeam 
in  a  canoe,  ordered  her  to  come,  and 
she  came  with  joy,  laughing  at  the 
Apache  dogs,  whose  mole  eyes  could 
not  perceive  her,  when  she  passed  in 
front  of  them." 

"  Yes,  it  must  be  so,"  Valentine  said, 
"  but  why  did  not  the  chief  come  him 
self  with  his  warriors,  instead  of  send 
ing  you  1" 

"  Unicorn  is  a  sachem,"  the  squaw  an 
swered,  "  he  is  wise  and  prudent  as  he 
is  brave.  The  warriors  had  remained 
in  the  village  ;  the  chief  was  alone  with 
Sunbeam." 


"  May  heaven  grant  that  your  words 
be  sincere,  and  that  we  may  not  have 
cause  to  repent  having  placed  confidence 
in  you,"  Don  Pablo  said. 

11  Sunbeam  is  a  Comanche  woman," 
the  Indian  replied  haughtily  ;  "  her 
heart  is  red,  and  her  tongue  is  not  fork 
ed." 

"  I  answer  for  her,"  Dona  Clara  said, 
impetuously  ;  "  she  would  not  deceive 
us." 

"  I  believe  it,"  Valentine  said  ;  "  but, 
at  any  rate,  we  shall  see.  There  is 
some  honor  among  the  red-skins;  be 
sides,  we  shall  be  prudent.  Now,  I 
presume  that,  like  myself,  you  are  all 
anxious  to  quit  this  island  1  My  ad 
vice  is,  that  we  should  at  once  take  ad 
vantage  of  the  canoe  this  young  woman 
has  brought  us." 

"  It  is  true,  then,"  Dona  Clara  said 
joyfully,  as  she  sprang  up. 

"  Yes,"  Valentine  answered,  "  a  mag 
nificent  canoe,  in  which  we  shall  be  per 
fectly  at  our  ease;  and,  better  still,  it 
is  capitally  found  in  food  and  ammuni 
tion.  Still,  1  think  we  should  not  do 
wrong  by  taking  advantage  of  the  fog 
to  escape,  without  giving  the  Indians  a 
chance  of  seeing  us." 

"  Be  it  so,"  Don  Pablo  said ;  "but 
once  on  firm  ground,  what  road  shall 
we  follow,  as  we  have  no  horses? 
Come,  Sunbeam,  can  you  give  us  any 
advice  on  that  head  ?" 

"  Listen,"  the  young  squaw  said ; 
"  the  Apaches  are  preparing  ibr  a  great 
expedition.  They  have  called  under 
arms  all  their  brethren ;  and  more  than 
three  thousand  warriors  are  traversing 
the  prairie  in  every  direction  at  this 
moment.  Their  war  parties  hold  all  the 
paths.  Two  nations  alone  would  not 
respond  to  the  invitation  of  the  Apa 
ches  :  they  are  the  Comanches  and  the 
Navajoes.  The  villages  of  my  tribe  are 
not  far  off,  and  I  can  try  to  lead  you  to 
them." 

"  Very  good,"  Don  Pablo  answered. 
"  Prom  what  you  tell  us,  the  river  banks 
are  guarded.  Going  up  the  Gila  in  a 
canoe  is  impossible,  because  within  two 
hours  we  suould  be  inevitably  scalped. 
1  am  therefore  of  opinion  that  we  should 
proceed  by  the  shortest  road  to  the 
nearest  Comanche  or  Navajoe  village. 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


75 


But,  to  do  that,  we  require  horses,  for 
we  must  let  no  grass  grow  under  our 
feet." 

"  Only  one  road  is  open,"  Sunbeam 
said,  firmly. 

"  Which  r  Don  Pablo  asked. 

"  The  one  that  crosses  the  Apache 
camp." 

"Hum!"  Valentine  muttered,  "that 
seems  to  me  very  dangerous.  We  are 
only  seven,  and  two  of  them  are  wo 
men." 

"  That  is  true,"  Eagle-wing  remarked, 
who  had  hitherto  been  silent ;  "  but  it 
is,  at  the  same  time,  the  road  which 
offers  the  best  chances  of  success." 

"  Let  us  hear  your  plan,  then,"  Val 
entine  asked. 

"  The  Apaches,"  the  sachem  went  on, 
"  are  numerous ;  they  believe  us  crushed 
and  demoralized  by  the  critical  position 
in  which  we  are.  They  will  never  sup 
pose  that  five  men  will  have  the  auda 
city  to  enter  their  camp  ;  and  their  se 
curity  is  our  strength." 

"  Yes,  but  horses  !  horses !"  the  hun 
ter  objected. 

"  The  Wacondah  will  provide  them," 
the  chief  replied.  "  He  never  abandons 
brave  men,  who  place  their  confidence 
in  him." 

"  Well,  let  us  trust  in  Heaven  !"  Val 
entine  said. 

"  I  believe,"  said  Dona  Clara,  who 
had  listened  to  the  conversation  with 
deep  attention,  "  that  the  advice  of  our 
friend,  the  Indian  warrior,  is  good,  and 
we  ought  to  follow  it." 

Eagle-wing  bowed,  while  a  smile  of 
satisfaction  played  over  his  face. 

"  Let  it  be  as  you  desire,"  the  hunter 
said,  turning  to  the  young  Mexican  girl, 
"  we  will  start  without  further  delay." 

The  cry  of  the  jay  was  heard  twice. 

"  Hilloh  !"  the  hunter  went  on,  "  what 
is  going  on  now  ?  That  is  Shaw's  sig 
nal." 

Everybody  seized  his  weapon,  and 
proceeded  at  full  speed  in  the  direction 
whence  the  signal  came,  Dona  Clara 
and  Sunbeam  remaining  behind,  con 
cealed  in  a  thicket. 

Though  unable  to  guess  the  motive 
which  had  caused  Sunbeam  to  act  in  the 
way  she  had  done,  Dona  Clara  had, 
however,  understood  at  the  first  word, 


with  that  intuition  which  women  pos 
sess,  that  Sunbeam  was  to  be  trusted — 
that  in  the  present  case  she  was  acting 
under  the  impression  of  a  good  thought, 
and  was  entirely  devoted  to  them  for 
some  reason  or  another. 

Hence  she  bestowed  the  most  affec 
tionate  caresses  on  her. 

Knowing,  besides,  the  desire  for  ra 
pine  and  the  avarice  which  are  the 
foundation  of  the  red-skin  character 
generally,  she  took  off  a  gold  bracelet 
she  wore  on  her  right  arm,  and  fastened 
it  on  the  Indian's,  whose  joy  and  happi 
ness  were  raised  to  their  acme  by  this 
pretty  present. 

Seduced  by  this  unexpected  munifi 
cence,  although  already  devoted  to  Val 
entine  by  the  services  he  had  rendered 
her,  she  attached  herself  unreservedly 
to  Dona  Clara. 

"  The  pale  virgin  need  not  feel  alarm 
ed,"  she  said  in  her  soft  and  musical 
voice ;  "  she  is  my  sister.  I  will  save 
her,  with  the  warriors  who  accompany 
her." 

"Thanks,"  Dona  Clara  answered, 
"  my  sister  is  good ;  she  is  the  wife  of 
a  great  chief  j  1  shall  ever  be  her  friend. 
So  soon  as  I  have  rejoined  my  father,  I 
will  make  her  presents  far  more  valu 
able  than  this." 

The  young  Indian  clapped  her  dainty 
little  hands,  in  sign  of  joy. 

"  W  hat  is  the  matter  there  ?"  Valen 
tine  asked,  on  reaching  Shaw,  who,  ly 
ing  on  the  ground  with  his  rifle  thrust 
forward,  seemed  trying  to  pierce  the 
darkness. 

"  On  my  honor,  I  do  not  know,"  the 
latter  replied  simply,  "  but  it  seems  as 
if  something  extraordinary  were  going 
on  around  us.  I  see  shadows  moving 
about  the  river,  but  can  distinguish  no 
thing,  owing  to  the  fog;  I  hear  dull 
sounds,  and  plashing  in  the  water,  and 
I  fancy  that  the  Indians  are  going  to  at 
tack  us." 

"Yes,"  Valentine  muttered,  as  if 
speaking  to  himself,  "  these  are  their 
favorite  tactics.  They  like  to  surprise 
their  enemies,  so  let  us  look  out  for  the 
canoe." 

At  this  instant,  a  black  mass  pierced 
the  fog,  advancing  slowly  and  noiseless 
ly  up  to  the  island. 


76 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


"  Here  they  are,"  Valentine  said,  in 
a  low  voice.  "  Attention  !  Do  not  let 
them  land." 

The  hunters  hid  themselves  behind 
the  shrubs. 

Valentine  was  not  mistaken :  it  was 
a  raft  loaded  with  Indian  warriors  com 
ing  up. 

So  soon  as  the  Apaches  were  only  a 
few  yards  from  the  island,  five  shots 
were  fired  simultaneously,  which  spread 
death  and  disorder  among  them. 

The  Apaches  believed  they  should 
surprise  their  enemies  asleep,  and  were 
far  from  expecting  so  rough  a  reception. 
Seeing  their  plans  foiled,  and  that  the 
enemy  were  ready  for  action,  there  was 
a  momentary  hesitation;  still,  shame 
gained  the  victory  over  prudence,  and 
they  continued  to  advance. 

This  raft  was  the  vanguard  of  some 
dozen  others,  still  hidden  hi  the  fog, 
awaiting  the  result  of  the  reconnoissance 
made  by  the  first. 

If  the  hunters  were  awake,  they  had 
orders  to  return  without  attacking  them, 
which  they  obeyed. 

The  first  raft  had  the  same  instruc 
tions,  but  it  had  either  got  into  a  cur 
rent  which  urged  it  on,  or,  as  was  more 
probable,  the  Indians  wished  to  avenge 
their  comrades,  and  they  consequently 
advanced. 

This  time  the  word' of  command  was 
given  by  Valentine,  and  the  Apaches 
landed  without  being  disturbed. 

They  all  rushed  forward  brandishing 
their  clubs,  and  uttering  their  war  yell, 
but  were  received  with  clubbed  rifles, 
felled  or  drowned,  ere  they  had  scarce 
time  to  walk  a  couple  of  paces  on  land. 

"  Now,"  Valentine  said  coldly,  "  we 
shall  be  quiet  the  whole  night.  I  know 
the  Indians,  they  will  not  recommence 
the  attack.  Don  Pablo,  be  so  good  as 
to  warn  Dona  Clara  :  Shaw  and  the 
Coras  warrior  will  get  the  canoe  ready, 
and,  if  you  think  proper,  we  will  start 
at  once." 

Curumilla  had  already  prepared  to 
pull  the  canoe  into  a  more  suitable  spot 
for  embarking  than  the  mass  of  tall 
grass  and  shrubs  in  which  it  was  con 
cealed,  but,  as  he  was  about  to  leap  in 
to  it,,  he  fancied  he  saw  that  it  was  sensi 
bly  moving  from  the  bank. 


Curumilla,  much  surprised,  stepped 
into  the  river,  in  order  to  discover  the 
cause  of  this  unusual  movement. 

The  canoe  was  moving  further  and 
further,  and  was  already  three  or  four 
yards  from  the  bank. 

Completely  liberated  from  the  reeds, 
it  was  cutting  the  current  at  right  an 
gles,  with  a  continuous  and  regular 
movement,  which  proved  that  it  was 
obeying  some  secret  and  intelligent 
influence. 

Curumilla,  more  and  more  surprised, 
but  determined  to  know  the  truth,  pro 
ceeded  silently  to  the  bow  of  the  boat, 
and  then  all  was  explained. 

An  end  of  rope,  intended  to  tie  up 
the  canoe  and  prevent  it  from  drifting, 
was  hanging  over ;  an  Apache  was  hold 
ing  this  end  between  his  teeth,  and 
swimming  vigorously  in  the  direction  of 
the  camp,  dragging  the  canoe  with  him. 

"  My  brother  is. fatigued,"  Curumilla 
said,  ironically  ;  '*  he  must  let  me  in  my 
turn  direct  the  canoe." 

"  Ouchi !"  the  Indian  exclaimed,  ia 
his  alarm  ;  and,  letting  loose  the  rope, 
he  dived. 

Curumilla  dived  upon  him. 

For  some  minutes  the  river  was  agi 
tated  by  a  submarine  .shock,  and  then 
the  two  men  reappeared  on  the  surface. 

Curumilla  held  the  Apache  tightly 
by  the  throat.  He  then  drew  his  knife,  , 
buried  it  twice  in  the  Indian's  heart  and 
lifted  his  scalp,  and  letting;  go  of  the 
corpse,  whic|i  floated  swiftly  on  the 
river,  he  leaped  into  the  canoe,  which 
during  the  short  struggle  had  continued 
to  drift,  and  brought  it  back  to  the  isle. 

"  Hilloh  !"  Valentine  said,  laughing  ; 
"  where  on  earth  do  you  come  from, 
chief?  I  thought  you  were  lost." 

Without  uttering  a  syllable,  Curu 
milla  showed  him  the  bloody  scalp 
hanging  from  his  girdle. 

"  Good,"  said  Valentine  ;  "  I  compre 
hend  ;  my  brother  is  a  great  warrior, 
nothing  escapes  him." 

The  Araucano  smiled  proudly. 

The  little  party  had  collected ;  the 
embarkation  took  place  at  once,  and  the 
men,  each  seizing  a  paddle,  began  cross 
ing  the  river  slowly  and  silently,  thanks 
to  Curumilla's  precaution  of  muffling 
the  paddles  with,  leaves. 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


77 


The  hearts  of  these  men,  brave  as 
they  were,  palpitated  with  fear,  for  they 
did  not  yet  dare  believe  in  the  success 
of  their  daring  project. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

INDIAN    HOSPITALITY. 

NOT  only  was  the  attempt  of  the  hun 
ters  to  escape  not  so  desperate  as  the 
reader  might  be  inclined  to  suppose,  but 
it  even  offered,  up  to  a  certain  point, 
great  chances  of  success. 

The  Apaches,  when  encamped  in  sight 
of  an  enemy,  never  keep  watch,  unless 
they  form  a  weak  detachment  of  war 
riors,  and  find  themselves  opposed  to  a 
far  superior  force ;  but  even  in  that 
case  these  sentries  are  so  careless  that 
it  is  extremely  easy  to  surprise  them, 
which  often  happens,  by  the  way,  with 
out  rendering  them  any  the  more  cau 
tious. 

In  the  case  of  which  we  write,  hardly 
a  few  miles  from  their  village,  and  hav 
ing  an  effective  strength  of  nearly  eight 
hundred  bold  warriors,  they  could  not 
suppose  that  five  men,  who  had  sought 
shelter  in  an  island,  without  the  means 
of  quitting  it,  would  attempt  such  a 
daring  stroke. 

Hence,  after  their  attempted  surprise 
of  the  whites  had  failed,  they  returned 
to  sleep,  some  round  the  fires,  others  in 
the  tents  erected  by  their  wives,  waiting 
patiently  for  the  morrow  to  attack  their 
foes  from  all  sides  at  once,  which  offered 
a  certain  chance  of  success. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  hunters  advanc 
ed  toward  the  bank,  concealed  by  the 
fog  that  enfolded  them  like  a  winding- 
sheet,  and  hid  their  movements  from 
the  eyes  interested  in  spying  them.  In 
this  way  they  arrived  in  sight  of  the 
fires,  whose  uncertain  gleams  became 
weaker  and  weaker,  and  they  saw  their 
enemies  lying  down  asleep. 

Eagle-wing,  at  a  hint  from  Sunbeam, 
steered  the  canoe  to  the  foot  of  a  rock, 
whose  commanding  mass  stood  about 
thirty  feet  over  the  river,  and  offered 
them  under  its  flank  a  propitious  shelter 
to  disembark  in  security. 


So  soon  as  they  landed,  the  hunters 
took  Indian  file,  'and  with  their  rifles 
ready,  they  stealthily  marched  toward 
the  camp,  stopping  at  intervals  to  look 
anxiously  around  them,  or  listen  to  any 
suspicious  sound. 

Then,  when  all  became  quiet  again, 
they  resumed  their  venturesome  march, 
gliding  past  tents  and  at  times  stepping 
over  the  sleepers  at  the  fire,  whom  the 
slightest  badly-calculated  movement 
would  have  aroused. 

It  is  impossible  to  form  a  correct  idea 
of  such  a  march  unless  you  have  made 
one  yourself.  A  man  gifted  with  the 
most  energetic  mind  could  not  endure 
its  terrible  emotions  for  an  hour. 

With  oppressed  chest,  haggard  eyes, 
and  limbs  agitated  by  a  feverish  and 
convulsive  motion,  the  hunters  passed 
through  the  midst  of  their  ferocious  ene 
mies,  knowing  perfectly  well  that,  if 
they  were  discovered,  it  would  be  all 
over  with  them,  and  that  they  would 
perish  in  the  most  horrible  agony. 

On  reaching  almost  the  extreme  limit 
of  the  camp,  an  Indian,  lying  across  the 
path  they  were  following,  suddenly 
made  a  movement  and  sat  up,  instinc 
tively  seizing  his  lance. 

One  shout  and  the  hunters  were  lost ! 

Curumilla  walked  straight  up  to  the 
Indian,  who  was  stupified  by  the  sight 
of  this  funereal  and  fantastic  procession, 
which  he  could  not  comprehend,  and 
was  followed  by  his  comrades,  whose 
step  was  so  light  that  they  seemed  to 
glide  over  the  ground  without  touching 
it. 

The  Apache,  terrified  by  this  appari 
tion,  which,  in  his  superstitious  belief, 
he  attributed  to  the  heavenly  powers, 
crossed  his  arms  on  his  chest  and  si 
lently  bowed  his  head.  The  band 
passed,  the  Indian  not  making  a  sigh  or 
uttering  a  word. 

The  hunters  had  scarce  disappeared 
behind  some  rising  ground,  when  the 
Apache  ventured  to  lift  his  eyes;  he  was 
then  convinced  that  he  had  had  a  vision, 
and  without  trying  to  account  for  what 
he  had  seen,  he  lay  down  and  went 
quietly  to  sleep  again. 

By  this  time  the  hunters  had  emerged 
from  the  camp. 


THE    PIKATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


"  Now,"  said  Valentine,  "  the  worst 
is  over." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  Don  Pablo  ob 
served,  "  our  position  is  more  precarious 
than  ever,  since  we  are  in  the  midst  of 
our  enemies,  and  have  no  horses." 

Curumilla  laid  his  hand  on  his  shoul 
der,  and  looked  at  him  softly. 

"  My  brother  will  be  patient,"  he 
said,  "  he  will  soon  have  them." 

"  How  so  ?"  the  young  man  asked. 

"  Sunbeam,"  the  Aucas  Chief  con 
tinued,  "  must  know  where  the  horses 
of  the  tribe  are." 

"  I  know  it,"  she  replied,  laconically. 

"  Very  good ;  my  sister  will  guide 
me." 

"  Chief,  one  moment :  the  deuce  !" 
Valentine  exclaimed,  "  I  will  not  let  you 
run  this  new  danger  alone  ;  it  would  be 
a  dishonor  to  my  white  skin." 

"  My  brother  can  come." 

"  That  is  exactly  what  I  mean  to  do. 
Don  Pablo  will  remain  here  with  Shaw 
and  Eagle-wing  near  Dona  Clara,  while 
we  attempt  this  new  expedition.  What 
do  you  think  of  it,  Don  Pablo?" 

"  That  your  plan,  my  friend,  is  worth 
nothing." 

"  Why  so  r 

"  For  this  reason  :  we  are  here  two 
paces  from  the  Apaches,  and  one  of 
them  may  awake  at  any  moment.  Just 
now  we  escaped  only  by  a  miracle. ; 
who  knows  how  our  enterprize  will 
turn  ?  If  we  separate,  perhaps  we  may 
never  come  together  again.  My  opi 
nion  is,  that  we  should  all  go  together 
to  look  for  the  horses ;  we  should  then 
save  time  in  useless  coming  and  going, 
and  this  will  give  us  a  considerable  ad 
vantage." 

"  That  is  true,"  Valentine  answered  ; 
{<  let  us  go  together,  and  in  that  way  we 
shall  have  finished  sooner." 

Sunbeam  then  began  guiding  the  little 
party,  but  instead  of  re-entering  the 
camp,  as  the  hunters  feared,  she  skirted 
it  for  some  distance;  then,  making  a 
sign  to  her  companions  to  stop  and 
wait,  she  advanced  alone.  Within  five 
minutes  she  returned. 

"  The  horses  are  there,"  she  said, 
pointing  to  a  spot  in  the  fog ;  "  they  are 
hobbled,  and  guarded  by  a  man  walking 


up  and  down  near  them.  What  will 
my  pale  brothers  do  ?" 

"  Kill  the  man,  and  seize  the  horses 
we  want,"  Don  Pablo  said ;  "  we  are 
not  in  such  a  situation  that  we  can  be 
fastidious." 

"  Why  kill  the  poor  man,  if  he  can 
be  got  rid  of  otherwise  ?"  Dona  Clara 
said,  softly. 

"  That  is  true,"  Valentine  supported 
her,  "  we  are  not  wild  beasts,  hang  it 
all !" 

"The  warrior  shall  not  be  killed," 
Curumilla  said,  in  his  grave  voice ;  "  my 
pale  brothers  must  wait." 

And  seizing  the  lasso  he  always  car 
ried  about  him,  the  Aucas  lay  down  on 
the  ground,  and  began  crawling  through 
the  tall  grass.  He  soon  disappeared  in 
the  fog. 

The  Apache  sentry  was  strolling  care 
lessly  along,  when  Curumilla  suddenly 
rose  behind  him,  and  seizing  his  neck  in 
both  his  hands,  he  squeezed  it  with  such 
force  that  the  Apache,  taken  unawares, 
had  not  time  to  utter  a  cry. 

In  a  turn  of  the  hand  he  was  thrown 
down,  and  garoted,  and  that  so  prompt 
ly  that  he  was  choked  as  much  by  the 
sudden  attack  as  by  the  terror  that  had 
seized  on  him. 

The  chief  put  his  prisoner  on  his 
shoulders,  and  deposited  him  at  Dona 
Clara's  feet,  saying  : 

"  My  sister's  wishes  are  accomplish 
ed,  this  man  is  safe  and  sound." 

"  Thank  you,"  the  maiden  answered, 
with  a  charming  smile. 

Curumilla  turned  red  with  delight. 

Without  loss  of  time,  the  hunters 
seized  the  seven  best  horses  they  came 
across,  which  they  saddled,  and  then 
shod  with  parfleche  to  avoid  the  sound 
of  their  hoofs  on  the  sand. 

This  time,  Valentine  assumed  the 
command  of  the  party. 

So  soon  as  the  horses  were  urged 
into  a  gallop,  all  their  chests,  oppressed 
by  the  moving  interludes  of  the  strug 
gle  which  had  continued  so  long,  dilat 
ed,  and  hope  returned  to  their  hearts. 

The  hunters  were  at  length  in  the  de 
sert  ;  before  them  they  had  space,  good 
horses,  arms  and  ammunition.  They 
fancied  themselves  saved,  and  were  so 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


79 


to  a  certain  extent,  as  their  enemies  still 
slept,  little  suspecting  their  daring  es 
cape. 

The  night  was  half  spent,  and  the 
fog  covered  the  fugitives.  They  had  at 
least  six  hours  before  them,  and  they 
profited  by  them. 

The  horses,  urged  to  their  utmost 
speed,  went  two  leagues  without  stop 
ping. 

At  sunrise  the  fog  was  dissipated  by 
the  first  beams;  and  the  hunters  instinc 
tively  raised  their  heads. 

The  desert  was  calm,  nothing  dis 
turbed  its  majestic  solitude  ;  in  the  dis 
tance  a  few  elks  and  buffaloes  were 
browzing  on  the  prairie  grass,  a  sure 
sign  of  the  absence  of  Indians,  whom 
these  intelligent  animals  scent  at  great 
distances. 

Valentine,  in  order  to  let  the  horses 
breathe  awhile,  as  well  as  draw  breath 
himself,  checked  the  headlong  speed, 
which  had  no  further  object. 

The  region  on  which  the  hunters 
found  themselves  in  no  way  resembled 
that  they  had  quitted  a  few  hours  pre 
viously  ;  here  and  there,  the  monotony 
of  the  landscape  was  broken  by  lofty 
trees ;  on  either  side  stretched  out 
high  hills.  At  times  they  forded  some 
of  the  innumerable  streams  which  fall 
from  the  mountains,  and,  after  the  most 
capricious  windings,  are  swallowed  up 
in  the  Gila. 

At  about  eight  o'clock  Valentine  no 
ticed,  a  little  to  the  left,  a  light  cloud 
of  bluish  smoke  rising  in  a  spiral  to  the 
sky. 

"  What  is  that  ?"  Don  Pablo  asked, 
anxiously. 

"  A  hunter's  encampment,  doubtless," 
Valentine  answered. 

"  No,"  Curumilla  said  ;  "  that  is  not 
a  pale-face,  but  an  Indian,  fire.'7 

"How  the  deuce  can  you  see  that, 
chief  7  1  fancy  all  fires  are  the  same, 
and  produce  smoke,"  Don  Pablo  said. 

"Yes,"  Valentine  remarked,  "all 
fires  produce  smoke;  but  there  is  a 
difference  in  smoke — is  there  not, 
chief1?"  he  added,  addressing  Curumilla. 

"  Yes,"  the  latter  answered  laconi 
cally. 

"  All  that  is  very  fine,"  Don  Pablo 
went  on  ;  "but  can  you  explain  to  me, 


chief,  by  what  you  see,  that  the  smoke 
is  produced  by  a  red-skin  fire  ?" 

Curumilla  shrugged  his  shoulders 
without  replying. 

Eagle-wing  took  the  word. 

"  The  whites,  when  they  light  fires," 
he  said,  "  take  the  first  wood  to  hand." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Don  Pablo. 

"  Most  frequently  they  collect  green 
wood  :  in  that  case  the  wood,  which  is 
damp,  produces  in  burning  a  white 
thick  smoke,  very  difficult  to  hide  on 
the  prairie  ;  while  the  Indians  only  em 
ploy  dry  wood,  whose  smoke  is  light, 
thin,  almost  impalpable,  and  soon  be 
comes  confused  with  the  sky." 

"  Decidedly,  on  the  desert,"  Don  Pa 
blo  said,  with  an  air  of  conviction,  "  the 
Indians  are  better  than  us  ;  we  shall 
never  come  up  to  them." 

"  Humph!"  sah-Kyalentine ;  "  if  you 
were  to  live  with  them  a  while,  they 
would  teach  you  plenty  more  things." 

"  Look,"  Eagle-wing  continued  ; 
"  what  did  I  tell  you  ?" 

In  fact,  during  this  conversation  the 
hunters  had  continued  their  journey, 
and  at  this  moment  were  not  more  than 
a  hundred  yards  from  the  spot  where 
the  fire  burned  which  had  given  rise  to 
so  many  comments. 

Two  Indians,  completely  armed  and 
equipped  for  war,  were  standing  in 
front  of  the  travellers,  waving  their 
buffalo  robes  in  sign  of  peace. 

Valentine  quivered  with  joy  on  rec 
ognizing  them  ;  these  men  were  Co- 
manches,  that  is  to  say,  friends  and  al 
lies,  since  the  hunter  was  an  adopted 
son  of  that  nation.  Valentine -ordered 
his  little  party  to  halt,  and  carelessly 
throwing  his  rifle  on  his  back,  he  pushed 
on,  and  soon  met  the  still  motionless  In 
dians. 

After  exchanging  the  different  ques 
tions  always  asked  in  such  cases  on  the 
prairie,  as  to  the  state  of  the  roads  and 
the  quantity  of  game,  the  hunter,  though 
he  was  well  aware  of  the  fact,  asked  the 
Indians  to  what  nation  they  belonged. 

"  Comanches,"  one  of  the  warriors  an 
swered,  proudly.  "My  nation  is  the 
Queen  of  the  Prairies."  ' 

Valentine  bowed,  as  if  fully  convin 
ced. 

"  I  know,"  he  said,  "  that  the  Coman- 


80 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


chcs  are  invincible  warriors.  Who  can 
resist  them  ?" 

It  was  the  Indian's  turn  to  bow,  with 
a  smile  of  satisfaction  at  this  point-blank 
compliment. 

"  Is  my  brother  a  chief  ?"  Valentine 
again  asked. 

"  I  am  Pethonista  (the  Eagle),"  the 
.  Indian  said,  regarding  the  hunter  like  a 
man  persuaded  that  he  was  about  to 
produce  a  profound  sensation. 

He  was  not  mistaken  ;  for  the  name 
was  that  of  one  of  the  most  venerated 
chiefs  of  the  Comanche  nation. 

"  I  know  my  brother,"  Valentine  an 
swered  ;  "  I  am  very  happy  to  have 
met  him." 

"  Let  my  brother  speak  ;  I  am  listen 
ing  to  him  :  the  great  white  hunter  is 
no  stranger  to  the  Comanches,  who 
have  adopted  him." 

"What?"  the  hunter  exclaimed; 
"  do  you  know  me  too,  chief?" 

The  warrior  smiled. 

"  Unicorn  is  the  most  powerful  Sa 
chem  of  the  Comanches,"  he  said. 
"  On  leaving  his  village  twelve  hours 
ago,  he  warned  his  brother  Pethonista 
that  he  expected  a  great  white  warrior 
adopted  by  the  tribe." 

"It  is  him,"  said  Valentine.  "Uni 
corn  is  a  part  of  myself,  and  the  sight 
of  him  dilates  my  heart.  Personally, 
I  have  nothing  to  say  to  you,  chief, 
since  the  sachem  has  instructed  you  ; 
but  I  bring  with  me  friends  and  two  fe 
males — one  is  Sunbeam,  the  other  the 
White  Lily  of  the  Valley." 

"  The  White  Lily  is  welcome  among 
my  people :  my  sons  will  make  it  a 
duty  to  serve  her,"  the  Indian  answer 
ed  nobly. 

"  Thanks,  chief.  I  expected  nothing 
less  from  you.  Permit  me  to  rejoin 
my  companions,  who  are  doubtless 
growing  impatient,  to  tell  them  of  the 
fortunate  meeting  with  which  the  Mas 
ter  of  Life  has  favored  me." 

"  Good.  My  brother  can  return  to 
his  friends,  and  I  shall  go  before  him  to 
the  village,  in  order  to  warn  my  young 
men  of  the  arrival  of  a  warrior  of  our 
nation." 

Valentine  smiled  at  this  remark. 

"  My  brother  is  the  master,"  he  said. 

After  bowing  to  the  Indian  chief,  he 


returned  to  his  companions,  who  did 
not  know  to  what  circumstance  they 
should  attribute  his  lengthened  absence. 

"They  are  friends,"  Valentine  said, 
pointing  to  Pethonista,  who  had  leaped 
on  a  mustang,  and  started  at  mil  speed. 
"  Unicorn,  on  leaving  his  village,  order 
ed  the  chief  I  have  been  speaking  to,  to 
do  us  the  honors  until  his  return.  So 
look,  Don  Pablo,  how  he  hurries  to  an 
nounce  our  arrival  to  the  warriors  of 
his  tribe." 

"  Heaven  be  praised!"  the  young 
man  said,  "  for  ease  and  rest  in  safety. 
Suppose  we  push  on  ?" 

"  Do  not  do  so,  my  friend.  On  the 
contrary,  if  you  will  take  my  advice, 
we  shall  reduce  our  pace.  The  Coman 
ches  are  doubtless  preparing  us  a  recep 
tion,  and  we  should  annoy  them  by  ar 
riving  too  soon." 

"  I  do  not  wish  that,"  Don  Pablo  re 
plied.  "  In  fact,  we  have  nothing  to 
fear  now,  so  we  can  continue  our  jour 
ney  at  a  trot." 

"  Yes ;  for  nothing  presses  on  us. 
In  an  hour  at  the  most  we  shall  have 
arrived." 

"  May .  Heaven  be  thanked  for  the 
protection  it  has  deigned  to  grant  us," 
the  young  man  said,  looking  up  with  a 
glance  of  gratitude. 

The  little  party  continued  to  advance 
in  the  presumed  direction  of  the  vil 
lage. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

LOVE  ! 

AN  hour  later,  the  hunters,  on  reach 
ing  the  top  of  a  hill,  perceived,  about  a 
mile  ahead  of  them,  a  large  village,  be 
fore  which  three  hundred  Indian  war 
riors  were  ranged  in  battle  array. 

At  the  sight  of  the  whites  the  war 
riors  advanced  at  a  gallop,  making  their 
horses  curvet  and  dance,  and  discharg 
ing  their  muskets  in  the  air.  They  ut 
tered  their  war-cry,  and  unfolded  their 
buffalo-robes,  performing,  in  a  word,  all 
the  usual  evolutions  in  a  friendly  recep 
tion. 

Valentine  made  his  companions  to 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


81 


imitate  the  Indians;  and  the  hunters, 
who  asked  nothing  better  than  to  dis 
play  their  skill,  descended  the  hill  at 
headlong  speed,  shouting  and  discharg 
ing  their  rifles,  amid  the  yells  of  joy 
from  the  red-skins,  who  were  delighted 
at  this  triumphal  arrival  among  them. 

After  the  usual  salutations  and  ex 
pressions  of  welcome,  the  Comanches 
formed  a  semi-circle  round  the  hunters, 
and  Pethonista  advanced  to  Valentine, 
and  held  out  his  hand,  saying  :  L 

"  My  brother  is  an  adopted  son  of 
the  nation.  He  is  at  home.  The 
Comanches  are  happy  to  see  him.  The 
longer  he  remains  among  them  with  the 
persons  who  accompany  him,  the  more 
pleasure  he  will  cause  them.  A  calli  is 
prepared  for  my  brother,  and  a  second 
for  the  White  Lily  of  the  Valley :  a 
third  for  his  friends.  We  have  killed 
many  buffaloes ;  my  brothers  will  eat 
their  meat  with  us.  When  our  brother 
leaves  us,  our  hearts  will  be  swollen 
with  sorrow.  Hence  my  brother  must 
remain  as  long  as  possible  with  his 
Comanche  friends,  if  he  wishes  to  see 
them  happy." 

Valentine,  well  versed  in  Indian  cus 
toms,  replied  graciously  to  this  har 
angue,  and  the  two  bands,  smiling, 
made  their  entry  into  the  village  to  the 
sound  of  the  chichikouis,  conches,  and 
Indian  instruments,  mingled  with  the 
voices  of  the  women  and  children,  and 
the  barking  of  the  dogs,  which  produced 
the  most  horrible  row  imaginable. 

On  reaching  the  village  square,  the 
chief  conducted  the  guests  to  the  huts 
prepared  for  them,  which  stood  side  by 
side,  after  which  he  invited  them  to 
rest,  with  a  politeness  that  a  man  more 
civilized  than  him  might  have  envied, 
after  telling  them  at  twelve  o'clock  they 
would  be  summoned  to  the  meal. 

Valentine  thanked  Pethonista  for  the 
kind  attention  he  displayed  to  him  and 
his  comrades:  then,  after  installing 
Dona  Clara  in  a  hut  with  Sunbeam,  he 
entered  his  own,  after  recommending 
the  hunters  to  display  the  greatest  pru 
dence  toward  the  Comanches,  who,  like 
all  Indians,  are  punctilious,  irascible, 
and  susceptible  to  the  highest  degree. 

Curumilla  lay  down  without  saying  a 


word,  like  a  good  watch-dog,  across  the 
door  of  the  lodge  inhabited  by  Dona 
Clara.  f 

So  soon  as  the  two  females  were 
alone,  Sunbeam  seated  herself  at  the 
Mexican  lady's  feet,  and,  fixing  on  her 
a  bright  glance,  full  of  tenderness,  she 
said,  in  a  soft  and  caressing  voice  : 

"  Is  my  sister,   the   White   Lily  of 
the  Valley,  satisfied  with  me  ?     Have  I 
faithfully  fulfilled  the  obligation  I  con-, 
tracted  toward  her  ?" 

"  V^hat  obligation  was  that,  child  ?" 
the  girl  said,  as  she  passed  her  hand 
through  the  Indian's  long  hair  which  she 
began  plaiting. 

"  That  of  saving  you,  my  sister,  and 
conducting  you  in  safety  to  the  callis  of 
my  nation." 

"  Yes,  yes,  poor  girl,"  she  said,  ten 
derly,  "  your  devotion  to  me  has  been 
unbounded,  and  I  know  not  how  I  can 
ever  requite  it." 

"  Do  not  speak  of  that,"  the  Indian 
said,  with  a  charming  pout.  "  Now  that 
my  sister  has  nothing  more  to  fear,  I 
will  leave  her." 

"  You  would  leave  me,  Sunbeam  ?" 
Dona  Clara  exclaimed  anxiously.  "Why 
so?" 

"  Yes,"  the  young  woman  answered, 
as  she  frowned,  and  her  voice  became 
stern,  "  I  have  a  duty  to  accomplish.  I 
have  taken  an  oath,  and  my  sister  well 
knows  that  is  sacred.  I  must  go." 

"  But  where  are  you  going,  my  poor 
child1?  Whence  arises  this  sudden 
thought  of  leaving  me?  What  do  you 
intend  ?  Where  are  you  about  to  pro 
ceed  V9 

"  My  sister  must  not  ask  me.  Her 
questions  wonld  only  grieve  me,  for  I 
cannot  answer  her." 

"Then  you  have  secrets  from  me, 
Sunbeam.  You  will  not  give  me  your 
confidence  ?  Fool !  do  you  fancy  I  do 
not  know  what  you  intend  doing  ?" 

"  My  sister  knows  my  plan  !" 

The  Indian  interrupted  her  with  flash 
ing  eye,  while  a  convulsive  tremor 
passed  over  her  limbs. 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  the  other  answered  with 
a  smile.  "  Unicorn  is  a  renowned  war 
rior,  and  my  sister  is  doubtless  anxious 
to  rejoin  him  1" 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


The  Indian  shooK  her  head  in  denial. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  Sunbeam  is  follow 
ing  her  vengeance." 

"Oh,  yes,  poor  child,"  Dona  Clara 
said,  as  she  pressed  the  young  squaw  to 
her  heart,  "  I  know  from  what  a  fearful 
catastrophe  Don  Valentine  saved  you." 

"  Koutonepi  is  a  great  warrior.  Sun 
beam  loves  him ;  but  Stanapat  is  a  dog, 
son  of  an  Apache  devil." 

The  two  women  wept  for  several 
minutes,  silently  mingling  their  tears, 
but  the  Indian,  overcoming  grief,  dried 
her  red  eyes  with  a  passionate  gesture, 
and  tore  herself  from  the  arms  that  held 
her. 

"Why  weep?"  she  said.  "Only 
cowards  and  weak  people  groan  and  la 
ment.  Indian  squaws  do  not  weep. 
When  they  are  insulted  they  avenge 
themselves,"  she  added,  with  an  accent 
full  of  strange  resolution.  "  My  sister 
must  let  me  depart !  I  can  no  longer 
be  useful  to  her,  and  other  cares  claim 
my  attention." 

"  Go,  then,  poor  girl.  Act  as  your 
heart  orders  you.  I  have  no  right  either 
to  retain  you  or  prevent  you  acting  as 
you  please." 

"Thanks,"  the  Indian  said.  "My 
sister  is  kind.  The  Wacondah  will  not 
desert  her." 

"  Cannot  you  tell  me  what  you  intend 
doing?" 

"1  cannot." 

"  At  any  rate,  tell  me  in  what  direc 
tion  you  are  going  ?" 

The  girl  shook  her  head  with  dis 
couragement. 

"  Does  the  leaf  detached  from  the 
tree  by  a  high  wind  know  in  what  direc 
tion  it  will  be  carried  ?  I  am  the  leaf. 
So  my  sister  must  ask  me  no  more." 

"  As  you  wish  it,  I  will  be  silent ;  but 
before  we  separate,  perhaps  forever,  let 
me  make  you  a  present,  which  will  re- 
cal  me  to  mind  when  I  am  far  from 
you." 

Sunbeam  laid  her  hand  on  her  heart 
with  a  charming  gesture. 

"  My  sister  is  there,"  she  said,  with 
emotion. 

"  Listen,"  the  maiden  continued : 
"  last  night  I  gave  you  a  bracelet ;  here 
is  another.  These  ornaments  are  use 


less  to  me,  and  I  shall  be  happy  if  they 
please  you." 

She  unfastened  the  bracelet,  and  fas 
tened  it  on  the  Indian's  arm. 

The  latter  allowed  her  to  do  it,  and, 
after  kissing  the  pearl  several  times, 
she  raised  her  head  and  held  out  her 
hand  to  the  young  Mexican. 

"  Farewell !"  she  said  to  her,  with  a 
shaking  voice.  "My  sister  will  pray 
to  her  GOD  for  me :  He  is  said  to  be 
powerful,  perhaps  He  will  come  to  my 
help." 

"Hope,  poor  child !"  Dona  Clara 
said,  as  she  held  her  in  her  arms. 

Sunbeam  shook  her  head  sadly,  and, 
making  a  last  sign  of  farewell  to  her 
companion,  she  bounded  like  a  startled 
fawn,  rushed  to  the  door,  and  disap 
peared. 

The  young  Mexican  remained  for  a 
long  time  pensive  after  Sunbeam's  de 
parture;  the  Indian's  veiled  words  and 
embarrassed  countenance  had  excited 
her  curiosity  to  the  highest  degree.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  interest  she  could 
not  forbear  taking  in  this  extraordinary 
woman,  who  had  rendered  her  a  signal 
service,  or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  a 
gloomy  presentiment  warned  her  that 
Sunbeam  was  leaving  her  to  undertake 
one  of  those  dangerous  expeditions 
which  the  Indians  like  to  carry  out  with 
out  help  of  any  soul. 

About  two  hours  elapsed. 

The  maiden,  with  her  head  bowed  on 
her  bosom,  went  over  in  her  mind  the 
strange  events  which  had  led  her,  inci 
dent  by  incident,  to  the  spot  where  she 
now  was. 

All  at  once  a  stifled  sigh  reached  her 
ear;  she  raised  her  head  with  surprise, 
and  saw  a  man  standing  before  her, 
humbly  leaning  against  a  beam  of  the 
calli,  and  gazing  on  her  with  a  strange 
meaning  in  his  glance. 

It  was  Shaw,  Red  Cedar's  son. 

Dona  Clara  blushed  and  looked  down 
in  confusion;  Shaw  remained  silent, 
with  his  eyes  fixed  on  her,  intoxicating 
himself  with  the  happiness  of  seeing  and 
contemplating  her  at  his  ease. 

The  girl,  seated  alone  in  this  wretch 
ed  Indian  hut,  before  the  man  who  so 
many  times  had  nobly  risked  his  lite 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


83 


for  her,  fell  into  profound  and  seriou 
thought. 

A  strange  trouble  seized  upon  her — 
her  breast   heaved   under  the  pressur 
of  her  emotion. 

She  did  not  at  all  comprehend  thi 
delicious  sensations  which  at  time 
made  her  quiver. 

Her  eye,  veiled  with  a  soft  languor 
Bested  involuntarily  on   this  man,  hand 
some  as  an  ancient  Antinous,  who  with 
his    haughty    glance,    his    indomitable 
character,    whom    a   frown    from    her 
made    tremble — the    wild    son    of    thi 
desert,  who  had  hitherto  known  no  wil 
but  his  own  ! 

On  seeing  him,  so  handsome  and  so 
brave,  she  felt  herself  attracted  to  him 
by  all  the  strength  of  her  soul. 

Though  she  was  ignorant  of  the  wore 
love,  for  some  time  an  unconscious  rev 
olution  had    taken  place  in  her  mind  : 
she  now  began  to  understand  that  divine 
union  of  two  souls,  which  are  commin 
gled  in  one,  in  an  eternal  communion 
of  thoughts  of  joy  and  suffering. 
In  a  vs  ord,  she  was  about  to  love ! 
"  What    do    you     want     with    me, 
Shaw  ?"  she  asked,  timidly. 

"I  wish  to  tell  you,  senorita,"  he  an 
swered,  in  a  rough  voice,  marked,  how 
ever,  with  extraordinary  tenderness, 
"  that,  whatever  may  happen,  whenever 
you  have  need  of  a  man  to  die  for  you, 
you  will  have  no  occasion  to  seek  him 
for  I  will  be  there." 

"Thanks,"  she  answered,  smiling,  in 
spite  of  herself,  at  the  strangeness  of 
the  offer  and  the  way  in  which  it  was 
made ;  "  but  here  we  have  nothing  to 
fear." 

"  Perhaps,"  he  went  on.  "  No  one 
knows  what  the  morrow  has  in  store." 
Women  have  a  decided  taste  for  ta 
ming  ferocious  animals  :  like  all  natures 
essentially  nervous,woman  is  a  creature 
of  feeling,  whose  passion  dwells  in  her 
head  rather  than  in  her  heart. 

Love  with  a  woman  is  only  an  affair 
of  pride  or  a  struggle  to  endure  :  as  she 
is  weak,  she  always  wishes  to  conquer, 
and  above  all  dominates  at  the  outset, 
in  order  to  become  presently  more  com 
pletely  the  slave  of  the  man  she  loves, 
when  she  has  proved  her  strength,  by 
holding  him  panting  at  her  feet. 


Owing  to  that  eternal  law  of  contrasts 
which  governs  the  world,  a  woman  will 
never  love  any  man  but  him  who,  for 
some  reason  or  another,  flatters  hc-r 
pride.  At  any  rate,  it  is  so  in  the  des 
ert.  I  do  not  pretend  to  speak  for  our 
charming  European  ladie«,  who  are  a 
composite  of  grace  and  attraction,  and 
who,  like  the  angels,  only  belong  to  hu 
manity,  by  the  tip  of  their  little  wing, 
which  scarce  grazes  the  earth. 

Dona  Clara  was  a  Mexican.  Her 
exceptional  position  among  Indians,  the 
dangers  to  which  she  had  been  exposed, 
the  weariness  that  undermined  her — all 
these  causes  combined  mu»t  dispose  her 
in  favor  of  the  young  savage,  whose  ar 
dent  passion  she  divined,  with  that  in 
tuition  peculiar  to  all  women. 

She  yielded  so  far  as  to  answer  him, 
and  encourage  him  to  speak. 

Was  it  sport,  or  did  she  act  in  good 
faith  1 

No  one  could  say  :  woman's  heart  is 
a  book,  in  which  man  has  never  yet 
been  able  to  construe  a  word. 

One  of  those  long  and  pleasant  con 
versations  now  begun  between  the  two 
young  people,  during  which,  though  the 
word  "  love"  is  not  once  uttered,  it  is 
expressed  at  every  instant  on  the  lips, 
and  causes  the  heart  to  palpitate,  which 
t  plunges  into  those  divine  ecstacies, 
orgotten  by  ripe  age,  but  which  render 
those  who  experience  them  so  happy. 

Shaw,  placed  at  his  ease  by  the  com 
placent  kindness  of  Dona  Clara,  was  no 
onger  the  same  man.  He  found  in  his 
leart  expressions  which,  in  spite  of  her 
self  made  the  maiden  quiver,  and  put 
ler  into  a  confusion  she  could  not  un 
derstand. 

At  the  hour  indicated  by  Pethonista, 

Comanche  warrior  appeared  at  the 
door  of  the  calli,  and  broke  off  the  con 
versation.  He  was  ordered  to  lead  the 
itrangers  to  the  meal  prepared  for 
hem  in  the  chief's  lodge. 

Dona  Clara  went  out  at  once,  follow 
ed  by  Shaw,  whose  heart  was  ready  to 
>urst  with  joy. 

And  yet  what  had  Dona  Clara  said 
o  him  ] 

Nothing.  But  she  had  let  him  speak, 
nd  listened  to  him  with  interest,  and 
t  times  smiled  at  his  remarks. 


84 


THE    PIRATES    OF    TUB    PRAIRIES. 


The  poor  young  man  asked  no  more 
to  be  happy,  and  he  was  so,  more  than 
he  had  ever  been  before. 

Valentine,  Don  Pablo,  and  the  two 
Indians  were  awaiting  Dona  Clara. 

So  soon  as  she  appeared,  ail  proceed 
ed  to  the  calli  of  the  chief,  preceded  by 
the  Comanche  warrior,  who  served  as 
guide. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


THE  DANCE  OF  THE  OLD  DOGS. 

PETHONISTA  received  his  guests  with 
all  the  refinements  of  Indian  courtesy, 
obliging  them  to  eat  when  he  fancied  he 
noticed  that  what  was  placed  before 
them  pleased  their  taste. 

It  is  not  always  agreeable  to  a  white 
man  to  be  invited  to  an  Indian  dinner  ; 
for,  among  the  red-skins,  etiquette  pre 
scribes  that  you  should  eat  everything 
offered  you  without  leaving  a  mouthful. 
Acting  otherwise  would  greatly  offend 
the  Amphitryon.  Hence  the  position 
of  small  eaters  is  very  disagreeable  at 
times  :  owing  to  the  vast  capacity  of 
Indian  stomachs,  they  find  the'nselves 
under  the  harsh  necessity  of  undergoing 
an  attack  of  indigestion,  or  attract  on 
themselves  a  quarrel  which  must  have 
serious  consequences. 

Fortunately  nothing  of  this  sort  oc 
curred  on  the  present  occasion,  and  the 
repast  terminated  satisfactorily  to  all. 
\V  hen  dinner  was  over,  Valentine  rose, 
and  bowing  thrice  to  the  company,  said 
to  the  chief: 

"  1  thank  my  brother,  in  the  name  of 
my  comrades  and  myself,  for  his  gra 
cious  reception.  In  a  thousand  moons 
the  recollection  of  it  will  not  be  effaced 
from  my  mind.  But  warriors  have 
something  else  to  do  than  to  eat,  when 
serious  interests  claim  their  attention. 
Will  my  brother  Pethonista  hear  the 
news  I  have  to  impart  to  him  T' 

"  Has  my  brother  a  secret  communi 
cation  to  make  to  me,  or  does  his  mes 
sage  interest  the  whole  tribe  V 

"  My  message  concerns  all." 

"  Wan  !  my  brother  must  be  patient, 
then.  To-morrow — perhaps  iu  a  few 


hours — Unicorn,  our  great  sachem,  will 
have  returned,  and  my  brother  can  then 
speak  with  him." 

"  If  Unicorn  were  here,"  Valentine 
said  quickly,  "  two  words  would  suffice; 
but  he  is  absent,  and  time  presses.  For 
a  second  time  \  ask  my  brother  to  listen 
to  me." 

"  Good ;  as  my  brother  wishes  it,  in 
an  instant  all  the  chiefs  shall  be  assem 
bled  in  the  great  audience  lodge,  above 
the  vault  in  which  burns  the  fire  of  Mon- 
tecuhzoma." 

Valentine  bowed  in  acquiescence. 

We  will  say  something  here  about 
the  fire  of  Montecuhzoma,  which  is  not 
without  interest  to  the  reader. 

This  singular  custom  has  been  handed 
down  from  age  to  age,  especially  among 
the  Comanches.  They  state  that,  at  the 
period  of  the  conquest,  and  a  few  days 
prior  to  his  death,  Montecuhzoma,  hav 
ing  a  presentiment  of  the  fate  that  sure 
ly  awaited  him,  lit  a  sacred  fire  and  or 
dered  their  ancestors  to  keep  it  up,  nev 
er  allowing  it  to  expire  until  the  day 
when  he  returned  to  deliver  his  people 
from  the  Spanish  yoke. 

The  guard  of  this  sacred  fire  was 
confiaed  to  picked  warriors ;  it  was 
placed  in  a  vault,  in  a  copper  basin,  on 
a  species  of  small  altar,  where  it  con 
stantly  smoulders  under  a  dense  layer 
of  ashes. 

Montecuhzoma  announced  at  the  same 
time  that  he  would  return  with  the  Sun, 
his  father  j  hence,  at  the  first  hour  of 
day,  many  Indians  mount  on  the  roof 
of  their  callis,  in  the  hope  of  seeing 
their  well-beloved  sovereign  reappear, 
accompanied  by  the  day  planet. 

These  poor  Indians,  who  constantly 
maintain  in  their  hearts  the  hope  of 
their  future  regeneration,  are  convinced 
that  this  event  will  be  accomplished, 
unless  the  fire  go  out,  through  some 
reason  impossible  to  foresee. 

Scarce  fifty  years  ago,  the  persons  ap 
pointed  to  maintain  the  secret  fire  were 
relieved  every  two  days,  thus  passing 
eight-and-forty  hours  without  eaiin^, 
drinking  or  sleeping. 

It  frequently  happened  that  these  poor 
wretches,  asphyxiated  by  the  carbonic 
gas  in  the  narrow  space  where  they 
stopped  and  weakened  by  the  long  fast, 


THE    PIRATES    OP    THE    PRAIRIES. 


85 


succumbed  to  their  religious  devotion. 
Then,  according  to  the  Indians,  the  bod 
ies  were  thrown  into  the  den  of  a  mon 
strous  serpent,  which  devoured  them. 

At  the  present  day  this  strange  be 
lief  is  beginning  to  die  out,  although  the 
fire  of  Montecuhzoma  may  be  found  in 
nearly  all  the  pueblos  ;  but  the  old  cus 
tom  is  not  kept  up  so  vigorously,  and 
the  serpent  is  obliged  to  obtain  his  food 
iu  a  different  fashion. 

1  knew  at  the  Paso  del  Norte  a  rich 
hacienderoof  Indian  origin,  who,  though 
he  would  not  confess  it,  and  asserted  a 
very  advanced  ^degree  of  belief,  prec 
iously  kept  up  the  fire  of  Montecuhzo 
ma,  in  a  vault  he  made  for  this  express 
purpose,  at  a  considerable  expense. 

The  Comanches  are  divided  into  a 
number  of  small  tribes,  all  placed  under 
the  orders  of  a  special  chief. 

When  this  chief  is  old  or  infirm,  he 
surrenders  the  military  command  to  the 
one  of  his  sons  most  distinguished  by 
his  bravery,  only  retaining  the  civil 
jurisdiction ;  on  the  father's  death,  the 
son  attains  the  complete  sovereignty. 

The  chief  summoned  an  old  Indian 
who  was  loaning  against  the  wall  of  the 
lodge,  and  bade  him  assemble  the  coun 
cil. 

In  the  Comanche  villages  the  old  men 
incapable  for  active  service,  and  whom 
their  merits  have  not  raised  to  the  rank 
.of  chief,  perform  the  office  of  crier. 
They  undertake  to  announce  trie  news 
to  the  population,  transmit  the  orders 
of  the  sachem,  organize  the  ceremonies, 
and  convene  the  council.  They  are  all 
men  gifted  with  powerful  voices;  they 
mount  on  the  roof  of  a  calli,  and  from 
this  improvised  pulpit  perform  those 
duties,  with  an  extraordinary  quantity 
of  shouts  and  gestures. 

When  the  chiefs  were  assembled, 
Pethonista  humbly  led  his  guests  to  the 
council  lodge,  called  the  great  medicine 
lodge. 

It  was  a  large  cabin,  completely  with 
out  furniture,  in  the  midst  of  which  an 
enormous  fire  burned. 

Some  twenty  chiefs  were  assembled, 
and  gravely  crouched  in  a  circle  ;  they 
maintained  the  most  profound  silence. 

Ordinarily,  no  stranger   is  admitted 


to  the  council ;  but  on  this  occasion  this 
was  departed  from,  owing  to  Valentine's 
quality  as  an  adopted  son  of  the  tribe. 

The  new-comers  took  their  place. 

A  chair  of  sculptured  nopal  was  placed 
in  a  corner  for  Dona  Clara,  who,  by  a 
privilege  unprecedented  in  Indian  man 
ners,  and  through  her  double  quality  of 
white  woman  and  stranger,  was  present 
at  the  council,  which  is  never  permitted 
a  squaw,  except  in  the  rare  instance 
when  she  holds  the  rank  of  warrior. 

So  soon  as  each  was  comfortably 
settled,  the  pipe-bearer  entered  the 
circle,  holding  the  calumet,  which  he 
presented  ready-lighted  to  Pethonista. 

The  chief  pointed  it  to  the  four  cardi 
nal  points,  and  smoked  for  a 'few  se 
conds;  then,  holding  the  bowl  in  his 
hand,  he  offered  the  stem  to  all  present 
in  turn,  who  imitated  him. 

When  all  had  smoked,  the  chief  re 
turned  the  pipe  to  the  bearer,  who 
emptied  it  into  the  fire,  while  pronounc 
ing  some'  mysterious  words  addressed 
to  the  Sun,  that  great  dispenser  of  all 
the  good  things  of  this  world,  and  walked 
backward  out  of  the  circle. 

"Our  ears  are  open,  my  brother;  the 
great  pale  hunter  can  take  the  word. 
We  have  removed  the  skin  from  our 
heart,  and  the  words  his  bosom  breathes 
will  be  carefully  received  by  us.  We 
impatiently  await  the  communications 
which  he  has  to  make  us,"  the  chief  said, 
bowing  courteously  to  Valentine. 

"  What  I  have  to  say  will  not  take 
long,"  the  hunter  answered.  "  Are  my 
brothers  still  the  faithful  allies  of  the 
pale-faces  ?" 

"  Why  should  we  not  be  so  ?"  the 
chief  sharply  interrupted  him.  "  The 
great  pale-hearts  have  been  constantly 
good  to  us;  they  buy  of  our  beaver 
skins  and  buffalo  robes,  giving  us  in  ex- 

ange  gunpowder,  bullets,  and  scalping- 
knives.  When  we  are  ill,  our  pale 
friends  nurse  us,  and  give  us  all  wo 
need.  When  the  winter  is  severe — 
when  the  buffaloes  are  gone,  and  famine 
s  felt  in  the  villages — the  whites  come 
bo  our  help.  Why,  then,  shall  we  no 
longer  be  their  allies  ?  The  Comanches 
are  not  ungrateful ;  they  have  a  noble 
and  generous  heart  j  they  never  forget 


86 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


a  kindness.  We  shall  be  the  friend  of 
the  whites  so  long  as  the  sun  lights  the 
universe." 

"  Thanks,  chief,"  the  hunter  answer 
ed ;  "I  am  glad  you  have  spoken  in  that 
way,  for  the  hour  has  come  to  prove 
your  friendship -to  us." 

"  What  does  my  brother  mean?" 

"The  Apaches  have  dug  up  the 
hatchet  against  us :  their  war-parties 
are  marching  to  surround  our  friend, 
Bloodson.  1  have  come  to  ask  my  bro 
thers  if  they  will  help  us  to  repulse  and 
beat  back  our  enemies." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  and 
the  Indians  seemed  to  be  seriously  re 
flecting  on  the  hunter's  words. 

At  length,  Pethonista  said,  after  giv 
ing  the  members  of  the  council  a  glance  : 

"  The  enemies  of  Bloodson  and  of  my 
brother  are  our  enemies,"  he  said,  in  a 
loud  and  firm  voice.  "  My  young  men 
will  go  to  the  help  of  the  pale-faces. 
The  Comanches  will  not  suffer  their  al 
lies  to  be  insulted.  My  brother  may 
rejoice  at  the  success  of  his  mission. 
Unicorn,  I  feel  convinced,  would  not 
have  answered  differently  from  me,  had 
he  been  present  at  the  council.  To 
morrow,  at  sunrise,  all  the  warriors  of 
my  tribe  will  set  out  to  the  assistance 
of  Bloodson.  I  have  spoken.  Have  I 
said  well,  powerful  chiefs  ?" 

"  Our  father  has  spoken  well,"  the 
chiefs  replied,  with  a  bow.  "  What  he 
desires  shall  be  done." 

"  Wah  !"  Pethonista  went  on ;  "  my 
sons  will  prepare  to  celebrate  worthily 
the  arrival  of  our  white  friends  in  their 
village,  and  prove  that  we  are  warriors 
without  fear.  The  Old  Dogs  will  dance 
in  the  medicine  lodge." 

Shouts  of  joy  greeted  these  words. 

The  Indians,  who  are  supposed  to  be 
so  little  civilized,  have  a  number  of  as 
sociations,  bearing  a  strong  likeness  to 
Freemasonry.  These  associations  are 
distinguished  by  their  songs,  dances,  and 
certain  signs.  Before  becoming  a  mem 
ber,  the  novice  has  certain  trials'* to 
undergo,  and  several  degrees  to  pass 
through. 

The  Comanches  have  eleven  associa 
tions  for  men  and  three  for  women,  the 
scalp-dance  not  included. 


We  will  allude  here  solely  to  the 
Band  of  the  Old  Dogs,  an  association 
which  only  the  most  renowned  warriors 
of  the  nation  can  join,  and  whose  dance 
is  only  performed  when  an  expedition 
is  about  to  take  place,  in  order  to  im 
plore  the  protection  of  Natosh. 

The  strangers  mounted  on  the  roof  of 
the  medicine  lodge  with  a  multitude  of 
Indians,  and  when  all  had  taken  their 
places,  the  ceremony  commenced.  Be 
fore  the  dancers  appeared,  the  sound  of 
their  war-whistles,  made  of  human 
thigh-bones,  could  be  heard ;  and  at 
length  ninety  Old  Dogs  came  up,  at 
tired  in  their  handsomest  dresses. 

A  portion  were  clothed  in  gowns  or 
shirts  of  bighorn  leather ;  others  had 
blouses  of  red  cloth,  and  blue  and  scar 
let  uniforms  the  Americans  had  given 
them,  on  their  visits  to  the  frontier 
forts.  Some  had  the  upper  part  of  the 
body  naked,  and  their  exploits  painted 
in  reddish  brown  on  their  skin  ;  others, 
and  those  the  most  renowned,  wore  a 
colossal  cap  of  raven  plumes,  to  the 
ends  of  which  small  tufts  of  down  were 
fastened.  This  cap  fell  down  to  the 
loins,  and  in  the  centre  of  this  shapeless 
mass  of  feathers  were  the  tail  of  a  wild 
turkey  and  that  of  a  royal  eagle. 

Round  their  necks  the  principal  Old 
Dogs  wore  a  long  strip  of  red  cloth, 
descending  behind  to  their  legs,  and 
forming  a  knot  in  the  middle  of  the 
back.  They  had  on  the  right  side  of  the 
head  a  thick  tuft  of  screech-owl  feathers, 
the  distinctive  sign  of  the  band.  All  had 
round  their  necks  the  long  ihkochekas, 
and  on  the  left  arm  their  fusil,  bow,  or 
club,  while  in  their  right  hand  they  held 
the  chichikoui. 

This  is  a  stick  adorned  with-  bine  and 
white  glass  beads,  completely  covered 
with  animals'  hoofs,  having  at  the  upper 
end  an  eagle's  feather,  and  at  the  lower 
a  piece  of  leather  embroidered  with 
beads  and  decorated  with  scalps. 

The  warriors  formed  a  wide  circle,  in 
the  centre  of  which  was  the  drum,  beaten 
by  five  badly  dressed  men.  In  addition 
to  these,  there  were  also  two  others,  who 
phiyed  a  species  of  tamborine. 

When  the  dance  began,  the  Old  Dogs 
let  their  rcbes  fall  behind  them,  some 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE   PRAIRIES. 


87 


dancing  in  a  circle,  with  the  body  bent 
forward,  and  leaping  in  the  air  with  both 
feet  at  once. 

The  other  Dogs  danced  without 
any  order,  their  faces  turned  to  the  cir 
cle,  the  majority  collected  in  a  dense 
mass,  and  bending  their  heads  and  the 
upper  part  of  the  body  simultaneously. 

During  this  period,  the  war  whistles, 
the  drums,  and  chichikouis  made  a  fear 
ful  row. 

This  scene  offered  a  most  original  and 
interesting  sight — these  brown  men, 
their  varied  costumes,  their  yells,  and 
the  sounds  of  every  description  produc 
ed  by  the  delighted  spectators,  who 
clapped  their  hands  with  grimaces  and 
contortions  impossible  to  describe,  in 
the  midst  of  the  Indian  village,  near  a 
gloomy  and  mysterious  virgin  forest,  a 
few  paces  from  the  Rio  Gila ;  in  this 
desert  where  the  hand  of  God  is  mark 
ed  in  indelible  characters — all  this  af 
fected  the  mind,  and  plunged  it  into  a 
melancholy  reverie. 

The  dance  had  lasted  some  time,  and 
would  have  been  probably  prolonged, 
when  the  fierce  and  terrible  war-cry  of 
the  Apaches  re-echoed  through  the  air. 
Shots  were  heard,  and  Indian  horsemen 
rushed  like  lightning  on  the  Comanches, 
brandishing  their  weapons,  and  uttering 
terrible  yells. 

Black  Cat,  at  the  head  of  more  than 
five  hundred  warriors,  had  attacked  the 
Comanches. 

There  was  a  frightful  disorder  and 
confusion. 

The  women  and  children  ran  franti 
cally  in  every  direction,  pursued  by 
their  ferocious  enemies,  who  pitilessly 
scalped  and  massacred  them,  while  the 
warriors  collected,  mostly  badly  armed, 
in  order  to  attempt  a  desperate,  but  al 
most  impossible,  resistance. 

The  hunters,  stationed,  as  we  have 
said,  on  the  top  of  the  hut  whence  they 
had  witnessed  the  dance,  found  them 
selves  in  a  most  critical  position.  For 
tunately  for  them,  thanks  to  their  old 
habit  as  wood-rangers,  they  had  not 
forgotten  their  weapons. 

Valentine  understood  the  position  at 
the  first  glance.  He  raw  that,  unless  a 
miracle  occurred,  they  were  all  lost. 
Placing  himself  with  his  comrades  be 


fore  the  terrified  maiden,  to  make  her  a 
rampart  of  his  body,  he  resolutely 
cocked  his  rifle,  and  said  to  his  friends, 
in  a  firm  voice  : 

"  Lads,  the  question  is  not  about  con 
quering,  but  we  must  all  prepare  to  die 
here  !" 

"  We  will,"  Don  Pablo  said  haugh 
tily. 

And  with  his  clubbed  rifle  he  killed 
an  Apache  who  was  trying  to  escalade 
the  hut. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

A   HAND-TO-HAND     FIGHT. 

IN  order  to  explain  thoroughly  to  our 
readers  the  sudden  attack  on  the 
Comanche  village,  we  are  compelled  to 
return  to  Red  Cedar. 

Black  Cat  had  left  the  council  to  pro 
ceed  to  the  Pirates,  who  were  ready  to 
follow  him  ;  but  as  Red  Cedar  had  no 
ticed  that  the  agitation  prevailing  in  the 
camp  on  his  arrival  had  increased  in 
stead  of  diminishing,  he  could  not  re 
frain  from  asking  the  chief  what  it  all 
meant,  and  what  had  happened. 

Black  Cat  had  hastened  to  satisfy 
him  by  narrating  the  miraculous  flight 
of  Dona  Clara,  who  had  disappeared 
with  her  companions,  and  no  one  could 
imagine  what  had  become  of  them. 
Since  the  morning,  the  most  experienc 
ed  warriors  of  the  tribe  had  been  on  the 
search,  but  had  discovered  nothing. 

Red  Cedar  was  far  from  suspecting 
that  the  maiden  he  had  left  in  his  camp 
was  the  one  so  eagerly  sought  by  the 
Apaches.  He  reflected  for  some  mo 
ments. 

"  How  many  white  men  were  there  ?" 
he  asked. 

"  Three." 

"  Was  there  no  one  else  with  them?" 

"  Yes,"  the  chief  said,  frowning,  and 
his  eyes  flashing  with  fury.  "There 
were  also  two  red-skin  warriors,  one  of 
them  a  cowardly  Coras,  a  renegade  of 
his  nation." 

"  Very  good,"  Red  Cedar  answered. 
"  The  chief  will  lead  me  to  the  council, 


88 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


and  I  will  tell  them  where  the  prisoners 
are." 

"  My  brother  knows  it,  then  ?"  Black 
Cat  asked,  quickly. 

1  Red  Cedar  threw  his  rifle  on  his 
back,  whistled  softly,  but  gave  no  an 
swer. 

They  reached  the  council  lodge. 

Red  Cedar,  taking  the  responsibility 
on  himself,  undertook  to  answer  the 
questions  addressed  to  him  by  the  In 
dians. 

Since  Black  Cat's  departure,  not  a 
word  had  been  uttered  in  the  council. 

The  Indians  were  patiently  awaiting 
the  result  of  the  promises  made  by  the 
chief. 

The  latter  resumed  his  place  at  the 
council  fire ;  and,  addressing  the  other 
sachem,  said  : 

"  Here  are  the  white  hunters." 

"  Very  good,"  an  old  warrior  answer 
ed,  "  let  them  speak,  we  hear." 

Red  Cedar  advanced,  and,  leaning  on 
his  rifle,  he  took  the  word,  at  a  sign 
from  Black  Cat. 

"  My  red  brothers,"  he  said,  in  a 
clear  and  marked  voice,  "  are  all  as 
wearied  as  ourselves  by  the  continual 
attacks  of  that  coyote  who  belongs  to 
no  nation,  or  no  color,  and  who  is  called 
the  Sun  of  Blood.  If  they  will  allow 
themselves  to  be  guided  by  the  expe 
rience  of  a  man  who  has,  for  many 
years,  been  thoroughly  acquainted  with 
tricks  and  villany  of  which  that  man  is 
capable,  before  long,  in  spite  of  the  im 
posing  force  he  has  at  his  command, 
they  will  have  driven  him  disgraceful 
ly  from  the  prairies,  and  compelled 
him  to  recross  the  frontier,  abandon 
ing  forever  the  rich  hunting1  grounds 
over  which  he  pretends  to  reign  as  a 
master." 

"We  await  till  our  brother  has  ex 
plained  himself  more  clearly,  with 
frankness,  and  without  equivocation," 
Black  Cat  interrupted  him. 

"That  is  what  I  am  about  to  do," 
the  squatter  went  on.  "  The  prisoners 
you  made  were  precious  to  you,  be 
cause  there  was  a  white  woman  among 
them.  You  allowed  them  to  escape, 
and  must  capture  them  again.  They 
will  be  important  hostages  for  you." 

"  My  brother  does  not  tell  us  where 


these   prisoners   have  sought  shelter.'* 

Red  Cedar  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"That  is,  however,  very  easy  to 
know.  The  prisoners  had  only  one 
spot  where  they  could  obtain  a  re 
fuge,  before  reaching  the  frontier." 

"  And  that  is  ?"  Black  Cat  asked. 

"  The  great  summer  village  of  the 
Comanches  of  the  mountains,  the  most 
faithful  allies  of  Bloodson,  the  sons 
of  Unicorn,  that  nation  which  has  re 
nounced  the  faith  of  its  fathers,  to  be 
come  t  completely  dependent  on  the 
whites,  and  to  whom  you  ought  to  send 
petticoats.  Hence  you  need  not  seek 
your  prisoners  elsewhere,  for  they  are 
there." 

The  Indians,  struck  by  the  correct 
ness  of  this  reasoning,  gave  unequivocal 
marks  of  approval,  and  prepared  to 
listen  with  greater  interest  to  what  the 
hunter  had  still  to  say  to  them. 

"  My  brother  must,  therefore,  do  two 
things,"  the  squatter  continued  ;  "  first, 
surprise  the  Comanches'  village,  and, 
secondly,  march  immediately  against 
Bloodson." 

"  Good,"  Stanapat  said,  "  my  brother 
is  a  wise  man ;  I  have  known  him  a 
long  time ;  his  advice  is  good  ;  but  the 
Teocali  inhabited  by  Bloodson  is  well 
defended.  In  what  way  will  my  bro 
ther  set  about  seizing  it  f ' 

"  My  brother  will  listen,"  Red  Cedar 
continued.  "  I  have  ten  bold  hunters 
with  me;  but  I  have  left  eighty,  all 
armed  with  good  rifles,  on  an  island  of 
the  Endless  River  where  they  are  en 
camped,  which  are  awaiting  my  return. 
The  detachment  intended  to  attack  the 
Teocali  will  invest  it  on  all  sides,  though 
the  warriors  will  not  let  themselves  be 
seen;  during  that  time  I  will  accom 
pany  Black  Cat  and  his  tribe  to  the  Co- 
rnanche  village.  As  soon  as  the  pri 
soners  have  fallen  into  our  hands,  I  will 
go  and  fetch  my  young  men  from  the 
island  where  I  left  them,  and  return 
with  them  and  Black  Cat  to  help  my 
brother  in  seizing  the  Teocali,  which 
cannot  resist  us." 

This  promise,  made  in  a  loud  and  firm 
voice,  produced  all  the  effect  the  squat 
ter  expected. 

The  Indians,  dreaming  of  the  immense 
pillage  they  could  indulge  in,  and  the 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


incalculable  wealth  collected  at  the  spot, 
had  only  one  desire :  to  seize  the  Teo- 
cali  as  soon  as  possible.  Still,  through 
the  Indian  stoicism,  hone  of  the  passions 
boiling  in  their  veins  were  displayed  in 
their  faces,  and  it  was  in  a  cold  and 
calm  voice  that  Black  Cat  thanked  Red 
Cedar  and  told  him  he  could  withdraw 
while  the  chiefs  deliberated  on  what  he 
had  brought  before  them. 

The  squatter  bowed  and  left  the  coun 
cil,  followed  by  his  companions. 

"Well,"  the  Gazelle  asked  him, 
"  what  do  you  fancy  the  red-skins  will 

dor     • 

"  Do  not  be  uneasy,  senorita,"  the 
squatter  answered,  with  a  most  meaning 
smile,  "  I  know  the  Indians ;  the  plan  I 
have  submitted  to  them  is  too  simple, 
and  offers  too  many  advantages  for 
them  to  decline  it ;  I  can  assure  you  be 
forehand  that  they  will  follow  it  ex 
actly." 

"  Is  it  far  from  here  to  the  Comanche 
village  ?" 

"  No,"  the  other  said,  emphatically ; 
"by  starting  at  once  we  should  reach 
it  this  evening." 

The  girl  gave  vent  to  a  sigh  of  satis 
faction,  and  a  vivid  blush  suffused  her 
charming  face. 

Red  Cedar,  who  was  watching  her 
aside,  could  not  refrain  from  muttering 
to  himself: 

"  J  must  have  the  solution  of  the  enig 
ma  ere  long." 

They  returned  to  the  tent. 

In  the  Council  of  the  Chiefs  all  hap 
pened  as  Red  Cedar  had  foreseen :  after 
a  short  deliberation,  referring  more  to 
the  mode  of  execution  than  to  the  plan 
itself,  it  was  adopted  unanimously. 

An  hour  later,  all  was  movement  in 
the  camp ;  the  warriors  rose  to  join  the 
detachments  and  form  squadrons ;  there 
was  an  indescribable  confusion. 

At  length,  calm  was  gradually  re 
stored,  the  two  war-parties  started  in 
the  directions  proposed  by  Red  Cedar, 
and  soon,  of  the  crowd  of  warriors  who 
had  been  yelling  and  dancing  in  the 
camp,  only  thirty  remained  to  receive 
the  warriors  as  they  arrived. 

Black  Cat  placed  himself  at  the  head 
of  his  band,  followed  by  the  Pirates. 


The  Apaches  started  for  the  Comanche 
village  in  Indian  file,  at  their  peculiar 
pace,  which  a  trotting  horse  finds  diffi 
culty  in  keeping  up  with. 

The  greatest  silence  and  caution  pre 
vailed  in  the  ranks,  and  it  seemed  as  if 
the  Apaches  did  not  wish  to  be  heard 
even  by  the  birds. 

With  extraordinary  dexterity,  of 
which  the  Indians  alone  are  capable, 
each  marched  in  the  other's  footsteps  so 
exactly  that  it  looked  as  if  only  one  per 
son  had  gone  along  the  path,  carrying 
their  care  to  such  an  extent  as  to  stoop 
for  fear  of  grazing  the  branches,  and 
avoiding  any  contact  with  the  shrubs. 

They  marched  as  far  as  was  possible 
on  broken  earth  or  rocks,  that  their 
traces  might  be  less  visible,  making  de 
tours  alter  detours,  and  returning  a 
dozen  times  to  the  same  spot,  for  the 
purpose  of  so  thoroughly  confusing  their 
trail  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  dis 
cover  it. 

When  they  reached  the  bank  of  a 
stream,  instead  of  crossing  it  at  right 
angles,  they  followed  or  went  up  it  for 
a  considerable  distance,  not  landing 
again  till  the  soil  was  hard  enough  to 
take  the  marks  of  their  footsteps. 

They  did  all  this  with  exemplary  pa 
tience,  without  checking  their  speed, 
and  still  advancing  to  the  object  they 
had  chosen. 

They  found  themselves  at  about  half- 
past  six  in  the  evening  at  the  top  of  a 
hill,  whence  the  summer  village  of  the 
Comanches  could  be  perceived  scarce 
two  miles  distant. 

The  sound  of  the  songs  and  chichi- 
kouis  reached  the  Apaches  at  intervals, 
thus  telling  them  that  their  enemies 
were  rejoicing  and  celebrating  some 
ceremony  without  any  suspicion  of  a 
sudden  attack. 

The  Indians  halted  and  consulted  as 
to  their  final  measures. 

The  Comanches  have  two  sorts  of  vil 
lages,  summer  and  winter.  The  latter 
are  built  with  care,  and  some  regularity. 
Their  houses  are  of  two  stories,  well  ar 
ranged,  light,  and  even  elegant.  But 
the  Comanches  are  birds  of  prey,  con 
tinually  exposed  to  invasions,  and  menac 
ing  others  with  them :  hence  they  con- 


90 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


struct  their  villages  on  the  point  of  rocks, 
exactly  like  eagles7  nests,  and  seek  all 
means  to  render  them  impregnable. 

The  most  curious  village  we  have 
seen  is  formed  by  two  lofty  pyramids, 
standing  on  either  side  of  a  ravine,  and 
connected  by  a  bridge  some  distance 
up.  These  pyramids  are  about  foujr 
hundred  and  twenty-five  feet  long  by 
one  hundred  and  forty -eight  wide;  as 
they  rise  this  width  diminishes,  and  the 
total  height  is  about  eighty-six  feet. 

These  two  villages,  divided  into  eight 
floors,  contain  five  hundred  inhabitants, 
who  are  enabled  to  defend  themselves 
against  a  swarm  of  enemies  from  these 
extraordinary  fortresses. 

In  the  Comanche  winter  villages  the 
door  is  not  on  the  ground-floor,  as  in 
Europe  and  civilized  countries.  The 
Comanche,  when  he  wishes  to  enter  his 
house,  places  a  ladder  against  the  side, 
mounts  on  the  roof,  and  thence  descends 
by  a  trap  to  the  lower  floors.  When 
the  ladder  is  once  drawn  up,  it  is  impos 
sible  to  enter  the  house. 

The  Pueblo  of  Aronco  is  situated  on 
the  summit  of  a  scarped  rock,  over  a 
precipice  several  hundred  feet  in  depth. 
The  inhabitants  only  enter  by  means  of 
ladders,  as  is  the  case  in  some  Swiss 
villages  ;  but  in  time  of  war  the  ladders 
disappear,  and  the  pueblo  can  only  be 
reached  by  notches  cut  at  regular  dis 
tances  in  the  rock. 

The  summer  villages  are  only  con 
structed  for  habitation  in  fine  weather, 
or  peace  times,  to  facilitate  getting  in 
the  crops  and  the  chase ;  so  soon  as  the 
first  frost  arrives,  or  a  sound  of  war  is 
heard,  they  are  immediately  deserted. 

All  the  summer  villages  are  alike ; 
the  one  to  which  we  allude  here  was 
surrounded  by  palisades  and  a  wide 
ditch,  but  the  fortifications,  which  had 
not  been  kept  up,  were  in  a  complete 
state  of  dilapidation;  the  ditch  was 
filled  up  at  several  spots,  and  the  pali 
sades,  torn  down  by  the  squaws  to  light 
fires,  offered,  at  many  places,  a  conve 
nient  passage  for  assailants. 

The  Apaches  wished  to  descend  into 
the  plain,  unnoticed  by  the  inhabitants ; 
which  would  have  been  difficult,  almost 
impossible,  for  European  troops;  but 
the  Indians,  whose  wars  are  only  one 


succession  of  surprises  and  ambushes, 
know  how  to  surmount  such  difficulties. 

It  was  arranged  that  the  band,  divid 
ed  into  three  detachments,  the  first  com 
manded  by  Black  Cat,  the  second  by  an 
other  chief,  and  the  third  by  Red  Cedar, 
should  crawl  down  the  hill  side,  while 
the  few  men  left  to  guard  the  horses 
would  come  up  when  the  village  was  in 
vaded. 

This  settled,  Black  Cat  had  torches 
prepared. 

When  all  was  ready,  the  three  de 
tachments  lay  down  on  the  ground,  and 
the  descent  of  the  hill  began.  ( 

Assuredly,  a  man  standing  sentry  in 
the  place  could  not  have  suspected  that 
more  than  five  hundred  warriors  were 
marching  on  the  village,  crawling  in  the 
lofty  grass  like  serpents,  not  even  mak 
ing  the  branches  or  leaves  under  which 
they  crept  oscillate,  and  keeping  such 
order  in  their  march  that  they  always 
formed  front. 

The  descent  had  lasted  more  than  an 
hour,  and  as  soon  as  the  plain  was 
reached  the  greatest  difficulty  was  sur 
mounted  ;  for  owing  to  the  height  of 
the  plants  and  bushes,  it  was  almost 
impossible  for  them  to  be  perceived. 
At  length,  gaining  ground  inch  by  inch, 
after  surmounting  enormous  obstacles 
and  difficulties,  they  reached  the  pali 
sade. 

The  first  to  arrive  was  Black  Cat, 
who  imitated  the  barking  of  the  coy 
ote. 

Two  similar  signals  answered  him, 
uttered  by  the  chiefs  of  the  other  de 
tachments,  who  had  also  arrived. 

Black  Cat,  now  confident  of  being 
vigorously  supported  by  his  friends, 
seized  his  war  whistle,  and  produced 
from  it  a  shrill  and  piercing  sound. 

All  the  Indians  rose  as  one  man,  and, 
bounding  like  tigers,  rushed  on  the  vil 
lage,  uttering  their  formidable  war-cry. 
They  entered  the  village  by  three  sides 
simultaneously,  driving  before  them  the 
terrified  population;  who,  taken  una 
wares,  fled  in  every  direction,  howling 
with  terror. 

Some  of  the  Apaches,  as  soon  as  they 
got  in,  lit  their  torches,  and  threw  them 
on  the  straw  roofs  of  the  callis.  The 
huts  immediately  caught,  and  the  fire 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


91 


spreading  around,  served  as  the  van 
guard  of  the  Apaches,  who  excited  it 
with  everything  they  could  lay  hands 
on. 

The  unhappy  Comanches,  surprised 
in  the  middle  of  a  ceremony,  surround 
ed  by  a  belt  of  fire,  and  attacked  on  all 
sides  by  their  ferocious  enemies,  who 
were  killing  and  scalping  women  and 
children,  suffered  from  the  most  pro 
found  despair,  and  only  offered  a  weak 
resistance  to  this,  fierce  assault. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  fire  spread  fur 
ther. 

The  village  became  a  burning  furnace 
— the  heated  air  was  oppressive  to 
breathe,  and  masses  of  sparks  and  of 
smoke,  driven  by  the  wind,  blinded  and 
burnt  the  eyes. 

The  hunters,  on  the  roof  of  the  calli, 
defended  themselves  vigorously,  not 
hoping  to  escape,  but  wishing,  at  least, 
to  sell  their  lives  dearly. 

They  were  already  surrounded  by  the 
flames  which  met  over  their  heads,  and 
yetlhey  did  not  dream  of  giving  way. 

Sftill,  when  the  first  moment  of  ter 
ror  had  passed,  a  band  of  Comanche 
warriors  had  succeeded  in  uniting,  and 
offered  a  most  obstinate  resistance  to 
the  Apaches. 

All  at  once,  White  Gazelle,  with 
flashing  eye,  suffused  face,  clenched 
teeth,  ana  1  ''inched  lips,  rushed  for 
ward,  followed  ^y  Red  Cedar  and  the 
Pirates,  who  followed  at  her  heels. 

"  Surrender !"  she  cried  to  Valentine. 

"  Coward  !"  the  latter  replied,  who 
took  her  for  a  man ;  "  here  is  my  an 
swer  !" 

And  he  fired  a  pistol  at  the  girl. 

The  bullet  passed  through  Orson's 
arm,  who  uttered  a  yell  of  pain,  and 
rushed  madly  into  the  medley. 

"  Surrender  !  I  say  again,"  the  girl 
went  on,  "you  must  see  that  you  will 
be  killed." 

"  No  !  a  hundred  tinves  no,"  Valen 
tine  shouted.  "  I  will  not  surrender." 

The  Gazelle,  by  a  prodigious  effort, 
reached  the  wall  of  the  calli,  and  by 
the  help  of  her  hands  and  feet,  succeed 
ed  in  reaching  the  roof  before  her  in 
tention  was  suspected. 

With  the  energy  and  fierceness  of  a 
tiger,  she  bounded  on  Dona  Clara,  seiz 


ed  her  round  the  waist,  and  put  a  pistol 
to  her  forehead. 

"  Now,  will  you  surrender  ?"  she  said 
furiously. 

"  Take  care,  Nina ;  take  care,"  San- 
doval  shouted. 

It  was  too  late  ! 

Cururnilla  had  felled  her  with  the 
butt-end  of  his  rifle. 

The  Pirates  rushed  to  her  aid,  but 
Valentine  and  his  friends  repulsed  them. 
A  horrible  hand-to-hand  combat  began 
over  the  body  of  the  girl,  who  lay  sense 
less  on  the  ground. 

Valentine  took  a  scrutinizing  glance 
around  him  ;  with  a  movement  swift  as 
thought  he  caught  up  Dona  Clara,  and, 
leaping  from  the  calli,  he  fell  into  the 
midst  of  a  detachment  of  Comanches, 
who  welcomed  him  with  shouts  of  joy. 
Without  loss  of  time  the  hunter  laid  the 
maiden,  who  was  half  dead  with  terror, 
on  the  ground,  and  placing  himself  at 
.the  head  of  the  warriors,  he  made  so 
successful  a  charge,  that  the  Apaches, 
surprised  in  their  turn,  were  compelled 
to  give  ground. 

Don  Pablo  and  the  others  then  re 
joined  the  hunters. 

"  By  Jove  !  it  is  warm  work,"  said 
the  Frenchman,  whose  hair  and  eye 
brows  were  scorched.  "  Our  friend, 
Red  Cedar,  has  brought  this  on  us.  I 
was  decidedly  wrong  in  not  killing 
him." 

In  the  meanwhile  the  Comanches  had 
recovered  from  their  terror ;  the  war 
riors  had  found  arms  and  assumed  the 
offensive. 

Not  only  did  the  Apaches  no  longer 
advance,  but  at  various  points  they  be 
gan  falling  back,  inch  by  inch,  it  is  true 
— but  it  was  already  a  retreat. 

The  Pirates,  rendered  desperate  by 
the  wound  of  their  darling  child,  sur 
rounded  her,  and  tried  in  vain  to  recal 
her  to  life. 

Red  Cedar  alone  fought  at  the  head 
of  the  Apaches,  and  performed  prodi 
gies  of  valor. 

Night  had  set  in,  and  the  combat  was 
still  going  on  by  the  sinister  glare  of 
the  fire. 

Valentine  took  Pethonista  aside,  and 
whispered  a  few  words. 

"  Good,"  the  chief  answered  j  "  my 


92 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


brother  is  a  great  warrior :  he  will  save 
my  nation." 

And  he  straightway  disappeared, 
making  some  of  his  men  a  sign  to  fol 
low  him. 

Dona  Clara  was  not  long  despondent; 
when  the  first  effect  of  terror  had  passed 
she  rose  and  seized  a  pistol. 

"  Do  not  trouble  yourself  about  me," 
she  said  to  Valentine  and  her  brother. 
"Do  your  duty  as  brave  hunters  :  if  I 
am  attacked,  I  can  defend  myself." 

"  I  will  remain  by  your  side,"  said 
Shaw,  giving  her  a  passionate  glance. 

"Be  it  so,"  she  answered  with  a  kind 
smile;  "  henceforth  I  shall  be  in  safety." 

The  Cornanches  had  entrenched  them 
selves  with  their  squaws  in  the  great 
square  of  the  village,  where  the  flames 
did  not  affect  them  greatly.  Indeed, 
the  wretched  callis  had  not  taken  long 
to  burn  ;  the  fire  was  already  expiring 
for  lack  of  nourishment,  and  they  were 
fighting  on  a  heap  of  cinders. 

Valentine,  while  fighting  in  the  first 
ranks  of  his  allies,  contented  himself 
with  holding  the  positions  he  had  suc 
ceeded  in  occupying,  and  did  not  at 
tempt  to  repulse  the  Apaches. 

All  at  once  the  war-cry  of  the  Co- 
manches,  mingled  with  a  formidable 
hurrah,  sounded  in  the  rear  of  the  Apa 
ches,  who  were  attacked  with  incredible 
fury. 

"Bloodson!  Bloodson !"  the  Apa 
ches  shouted,  attacked  with  extraordi 
nary  terror. 

It  was,  in  truth,  the  stranger,  who, 
followed  by  Don  Miguel,  General  Iba- 
nez,  Unicorn,  and  all  his  comrades, 
rushed  like  a  whirlwind  on  the  Apa 
ches. 

Valentine  gave  vent  to  a  shout  of 
joy  in  response  to  the  hurrah  of  his 
friends,  and  rushed  forward  at  the  head 
of  his  warriors. 

From  this  moment  the  medley  be- 
*came  horrible :  it  was  no  longer  a  com 
bat,  but  a  butchery,  an  atrocious  car 
nage ! 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  AVENGER. 

IN  order  fully  to  comprehend  the  en 
suing  facts,  we  are  constrained  to  relate 
here  an  event  which  occurred  about 
twenty  years  before  our  story  com 
mences. 

At  that  remote  period  Texas  belong 
ed,  if  not  de  facto,  still  de  jure,  to 
Mexico.  Marvellously  situated  on  the 
Gulf  of  Mexico,  endowed  with  a  tempe 
rate  climate  and  a  fertile  soil,  which,  if 
tickled  with  a  spade,  laughs  with  a 
harvest,  Texas  is  assuredly  one  of  the 
richest  countries  in  the  New  World. 
Hence,  the  Government,  foreseeing  the 
future  of  this  province,  did  all  in  its 
power  to  populate  it. 

Unfortunate!}',  it  effected  very  little, 
incapable  as  it  was  of  populating  even 
Mexico. 

Still,  a  considerable  number  of  Mexi 
cans  went  across  and  settled  in  Texas. 

Among  the  men  who  let  themselves 
be  tempted  by  the  magic  promises  of 
this  virgin  soil  were  two  brothers,  Doti 
Stefano  and  Don  Pacheco  de  Irala,  of 
the  best  families  in  the  province  of 
Neuvo-Leon. 

The  active  part  they  played  in  the 
war  of  independence  had  ruined  them, 
and  not  obtaining  frorr  me  ^liberals, 
after  the  triumph  of  tb.,ir  cause,  the  re 
ward  they  had  a  right  to  expect  for  the 
services  they  had  rendered — Don  Gre- 
gorio,  their  father,  having  even  paid 
with  his  life  for  his  attachment  to 
the  party — they  had  no  other  resource 
but  settling  in  Texas,  a  new  country, 
in  which  they  had  hopes  of  speedily  re 
establishing  their  fortunes. 

Owing  to  their  thorough  knowledge 
of  agriculture,  and  their  intelligence, 
they  soon  gave  a  considerable  extension 
to  their  settlement,  which  they  had  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  daily  grow  more 
prosperous,  in  defiance  of  Indians, 
buffaloes,  tempests,  and  illness. 

The  Hacienda  del  Papagallo  (Parrot 

farm),  inhabited  by  the   two    brothers, 

M  *bp  houses  in  this  country, 

jail**  to  the 

5  of  for- 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


93 


tress  built  of  carved  stone  and  sur 
rounded  by  a  thick  and  embrasurec 
wall,  with  a  gun  at  each  corner :  it 
stood  on  the  top  of  a  rather  lofty  hill 
and  commanded  the  plain  for  a  conside 
rable  distance. 

Don  Pacheco,  the  elder  of  the  two 
brothers,  was  married  and  had  two 
daughters,  little  creatures  scarce  three 
years  of  age,  whose  joyous  cries  and 
ravishing  smiles  filled  the  interior  of 
the  hacienda  with  gaiety. 

Hardly  three  leagues  from  the  farm 
was  another,  occupied  by  Northern 
Americans,  adventurers  of  more  than 
dubious  conduct,  who  had  come  to  the 
country  no  one  knew  how,  and  who, 
since  they  inhabited  it,  led  a  mysteri 
ously  problematical  existence,  which 
gave  birth  to  the  strangest  and  most 
contradictory  reports  about  them. 

It  was  whispered  that,  under  the 
guise  of  peaceful  farmers,  these  men 
maintained  relations  with  the  bandits 
who  flocked  into  the  country  from 
every  side,  and  that  they  were  the  se 
cret  chiefs  of  a  dangerous  association 
of  malefactors,  who  had  ravaged  the 
country  for  several  years  past  with  im 
punity. 

Ou  several  occasions  the  two  broth 
ers  had  disputes  with  these  unpleasant 
neighbors  about  cattle  that  had  disap 
peared  and  other  peccadillos  of  the 
same  nature.  In  a  word,  they  lived 
with  them  on  the  footing  of  an  armed 
peace. 

A  few  days  previous  to  the  period  to 
which  this  chapter  refers,  Don  Pacheco 
had  a  sharp  altercation  with  one  of 
these  Americans  of  the  name  of 
Wilkes,  about  several  slaves  the  fellow 
tried  to  seduce  .from  hacienda,  and  the 
result  was,  that  Don  Pacheco,  naturally 
hot-tempered,  gave  him  a  tremendous 
horsewhipping. 

The  other  swallowed  the  insult  with 
out  making  any  attempt  to  revenge 
himself;  but  he  had  withdrawn,  mut 
tering  the  most  terrible  threats  against 
Don  Pacheco. 

Still,  as  we  have  said,  the  affair  had 
no  further  consequences. 

Nearly  a  month  had  passed,  and  the 
brothers  had  heard  nothing  from  their 
neighbors. 

6 


On  the  evening  of  the  day  which  we 
take  up  our  narrative,  Don  Stefano, 
mounted  on  a  mustang,  was  preparing  to 
leave  the  hacienda,  to  ride  to  Nacog- 
doches,  where  important  business  called 
him. 

"Then,  you  are  really  going?"  Don 
Pacheco  said. 

"  At  once  :  you  know  that  I  put  off 
the  journey  as  long  as  I  could." 

"  How  long  do  you  expect  to  be  ab 
sent?" 

"  Four  days,  at  the  most." 

"  Good :  we  shall  not  expect  you, 
then,  before." 

"  Oh,  it  is  very  possible  I  may  return 
sooner." 

"Why  so?"  v 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  ?  Well,  I  do  not 
feel  easy  in  mind." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  I  am  anxious,  I  know  not  why. 
Many  times  I  have  left  you,  brother, 
for  longer  journeys  than  this " 

"  Well !"  Don  Pacheco  interrupted 
him. 

"  I  never  felt  before  as  I  do  at  this 
moment." 

"  You  startle  me,  brother.  What  is 
the  matter  with  you  ?" 

"  I  could  not  explain  it  to  you.  I 
have  a  foreboding  of  evil.  In  spite  of 
myself,  my  heart  is  contracted  on  leav- 

3  you." 

"  That  is  strange,"  Don  Pacheco 
muttered,  suddenly  becoming  thought 
ful.  "  I  do  not  dare  confess  it  to  you, 
brother ;  but  I  have  just  the  same  feel 
ing  as  yourself,  and  am  afraid  I  know 
not  why." 

"  Brother,"  Don  Stefano  replied  in  a 
gloomy  voice,  "  you  know  how  we  love 
ach  other.  Since  our  father's  death, 
we  have  constantly  shared  every 
thing — joy  nnd  sorrow,  fortune  or  re 
verses.  Brother,  this  foreboding  is  sent 
us  from  Heaven.  A  great  danger 
threatens  us." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  Don  Pacheco  said 
sadly. 

"  Listen,  brother,"  Don  Stefano  re 
marked,  resolutely.  "  I  will  not  go." 

And  he  made  a  movement  to  dis 
count,  but  his  brother  checked  him. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  we  are  men.  We 
must  not,  then,  let  ourselves  be  con- 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


quered  by  foolish  thoughts,  which  are 
only  chimeras  produced  by  a  diseased 
imagination." 

"  No.  I  prefer  to  remain  here  a  few 
days  longer." 

"  You  told  me  yourself  that  your  in 
terests  claim  your  presence  at  Nacog- 
doches.  Go,  but  return  as  soon  as  pos 
sible." 

There  was  a  silence,  during  which  the 
brothers  reflected  deeply. 

The  moon  rose  pallid  and  mournful 
on  the  horizon. 

"  That  Wilkes  is  a  villain,"  Don  Ste- 
fano  went  on  ;  "who  knows  whether  he 
is  not  waiting  my  departure  to  attempt 
on  the  hacienda  one  of  those  terrible  ex 
peditions  of  which  he  is  accused  by  the 
•public  voice  ?" 

Don  Pacheco  began  laughing,  and, 
stretching  out  his  hand  in  the  direction 
•of  the  farm,  whose  white  walls  stood 
out  clearly  on  the  dark  blue  sky,  he 
.said  : 

"  The  Papagallo  has  too  hard  sides 
for  those  bandits.  Go  in  peace,  brother, 
(they  will  not  venture  it." 

"  May  Heaven  grant  it !"  Don  Ste 
fano  murmured. 

"  Oh,  those  men  are  cowards,  and  I 
inflicted  a  well-merited  punishment  on. 
'the  scoundrel." 

"Agreed." 

"  Welll' 

"  It's  precisely  because  those  men  are 
cowards  that  I  fear  them.  Canarios  !  1 
.know  as  well  as  you  that  they  will  not 
dare  openly  to  attack  you." 

"What  have  I  to  fear,  then  V1  Don 
Pacheco  interrupted  him. 

"  Treachery,  brother." 

"  Why,  have  I  not  five  hundred  de 
voted  peons  QII  the  hacienda  ?  Go  with 
out  fear,  I  tell  you." 

"You  wish  it1?" 

"  1  insist  on  it." 

"•Goodbye,  then,"  Don  Stefano  said, 
stifling  a  sigh.  "  Good-bye,  brother, 
till  we  'meet  again." 

Don  Stefano  dug  his  spurs  into  his 
horse's  flanks,  and  started  at  full  speed. 
l\>r  a  long  time  his  brother  followed 
the  rider's  outline  on  the  sandy  road> 
till  he  turned  a  corner,  and  Don  Pacheco 
re-entered  the  hacienda  with  an  anxious 
heart. 


Don  Stefano,  stimulated  by  the  vague 
alarm  that  oppressed  him,  only  stopped 
the  absolutely  necessary  period  at  Na- 
cogdaches  to  finish  his  business,  and 
hurried  back  scarce  two  days  after  his 
departure.  Strangely  enough,  the  nearer 
he  drew  to  the  farm,  the  greater  his 
anxiety  grew,  though  it  was  impossible 
for  him  to  explain  the  causes  of  the 
feeling. 

Around  home  all  was  tranquil — the 
sky,  studded  with  an  infinite  number  of 
glistening  stars,  spread  over  his  head  its 
dome  of  azure ;  at  intervals,  the  howling 
of  the  coyote  was  mingled  with  the 
hoarse  lowing  of  the  buffaloes,  or  the 
roars  of  the  jaguars  in  quest  of  prey. 

Don  Stefano  still  advanced,  bowed 
over  his  horse's  neck,  with  pale  fore 
head  and  heaving  chest,  listening  to  the 
numerous  sounds  of  the  solitude,  and 
trying  to  pierce  with  vivid  glance  the 
darkness  that  hid  from  him  the  point  to 
which  he  was  hurrying  with  the  speed 
of  a  tornado. 

After  a  ride  of  six  hours,  the  Mexi 
can  suddenly  uttered  a  yell  of  agony,  as 
he  violently  pulled  up  his  panting  steed. 

Before  him  the  Hacienda  del  Papa 
gallo  appeared,  surrounded  by  a  belt  of 
flames.  The  magnificent  building  was 
now  only  a  shapeless  pile  of  smoking 
ruins,  reflecting  its  ruddy  flames  on  the 
sky  for  a  considerable  distance. 

"My  brother!  my  brother!"  Don 
Stefano  shrieked  in  his  despair. 

And  he  rushed  into  the  furnace. 

A  mournful  silence  brooded  over  the 
hacienda. 

At  every  step  the  Mexican  stumbled 
over  corpses  half-consumed  by  the 
flames  and  horribly  mutilated.  Mad 
with  grief  and  rage,  with  his  hair  and 
clothes  b'urned  by  the  flames  that  enve 
loped  him,  Don  Stefano  continued  his 
researches. 

What  was  he  seeking  in  this  accursed 
charnel-house  ? 

He  did  not  himself  know,  but  still  he 
sought.  Not  a  shriek,  not  a  sigh  !  On 
all  sides  the  silence  of  death  ! — that  ter 
rible  silence  which  makes  the  heart 
leap,  and  ices  the  bravest  man  with 
fear ! 

What  had  taken  place  during  Don 
Stefano's  absence  1  what  enemy  had  pro- 


THE    PIRATES    OF   THE   PRAIRIES. 


95 


duced  these  ruins  in  a  few  short  hours  1 

The  first  beams  of  dawn  were  begin 
ning  to  tinge  the  horizon  with  their  fugi 
tive  opaline  tints,  and  the  sky  gradually 
assumed  that  ruddy  hue  which  announces 
sunrise. 

Don  Stefano  had  passed  the  whole 
night  in  vain  and  sterile  researches,  and 
though  he  had  constantly  interrogated 
the  ruins,  they  remained  dumb. 

The  Mexican,  overcome  by  grief,  and 
compelled  to  acknowledge  his  own  im 
potence,  gave  Heaven  a  glance  of  re 
proach  and  despair,  and  throwing  him 
self  on  the  calcined  ground,  he  hid  his 
face  in  his  hands,  and  wept !  The  sight 
of  this  young,  handsome,  brave  man 
weeping  silently  over  the  ruins  whose 
secret  he  had  been  unable  to  discover 
must  have  been  heartrending. 

Suddenly,  Don  Stefano  started  up, 
•with  flashing  eye,  and  a  face  on  which 
indomitable  energy  was  imprinted. 

"  Oh  !"  he  shouted,  in  a  voice  that 
resembled  the  howl  of  a  wild  beast, 
"  vengeance  !  vengeance  !" 

A  voice  that  seemed  to  issue  from  the 
tomb  answered  his,  and  Don  Stefano 
turned  round  with  a  shudder. 

Two  yards  from  him,  his  brother, 
pale,  mutilated,  and  bleeding,  was  lean 
ing  against  a  fallen  wall,  like  a  spectre. 

"  Ah !"  the  Mexican  exclaimed,  as  he 
rushed  toward  him. 

the 

in   a  voice 
choking  with  the  death-rattle. 

"  Oh !  I  will  save  you,  brother,"  Don 
Stefano  said,  desperately. 

"  No,"  Don  Pacheco  replied  sadly, 
shaking  his  head,  "  I  am  dying,  brother  ; 
your  foreboding  did  not  deceive  you." 

"  Hope !" 

And,  raising  his  brother  in  his  power 
ful  arms,  he  prepared  to  pay  him  that 
attention  which  his  condition  seemed  to 
demand. 

"  I  am  dying,  I  tell  you — all  is  use 
less,"  Don  Pacheco  continued,  in  a  voice 
that  momentarily  grew  weaker.  "  Lis 
ten  to  me." 

"  Speak  I" 

"  Say  that  you  will  avenge  me,  bro 
ther?"  the  dying  man  asked,  his  eye 
emitting  a  fierce  flash. 

"I  will  avenge  you,"  Don  Stefano 


"  You   come   too   late,   brother 
wounded    man   murmured, 


answered  ;  "  I  swear  it  by  our  Saviour  !" 

"  Good !  I  have  been  assassinated  by 
men  dressed  as  Apache  Indians,  but 
amon£  them  I  fancied  I  recognized " 

"  Whom  V9 

"  Wilkes  the  squatter,  and  Samuel, 
his  accomplice." 

"  Enough  !  where  is  your  wife  ?" 

"  Dead  !  my  daughters,  save  them  !" 
Don  Pacheco  murmured. 

"  Where  are  they  7" 

"  Carried  off  by  the  bandits." 

"  Oh  !  I  will  discover  them,  even  if 
hidden  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth  !  Did 
you  not  recognize  any  one  else  1" 

"  Yes,  yes,  one  more,"  the  dying  man 
said,  in  an  almost  unintelligible  voice. 

Don  Stefano  bent  over  his  brother  in 
order  to  hear  more  distinctly*. 

"  Who  ?  tell  me — brother,  speak  in 
Heaven's  name  !" 

The  wounded  man  made  a  supreme 
effort. 

"  There  was  another  man,  formerly  a 
peon  of  ours." 

"  His  name  ?"  Don  Stefano  asked  ea 
gerly. 

Don  Pacheco  was  growing  weaker, 
his  face  had  assumed  an  earthy  hue,  and 
his  eyes  could  no  longer  distinguish  ob 
jects. 

"  1  cannot  remember,"  he  sighed  ra 
ther  than  said. 

"  One  word,  only  one,  brother." 

"  Yes,  listen— it  is  Sarid— ah  !" 

He  suddenly  fell  back,  uttering  a  ter 
rible  cry,  and  clutching  at  his  brother's 
arm  ;  he  writhed  in  a  final  convulsion, 
and  all  was  over. 

Don  Stefano  knelt  by  his  brother's 
corpse,  embraced  it  tenderly,  piously 
closed  its  eyes,  and  then  got  up.  He 
dug  a  grave  with  his  machete  among  the 
smoking  ruins  of  the  hacienda,  in  which 
he  laid  hi  s  brother's  body. 

When  this  sacred  duty  was  perform 
ed,  he  addressed  an  ardent  prayer  to 
the  Deity  in  behalf  of  the  sinful  man 
who  was  about  to  appear  before  His 
judgment-seat,  and  then,  stretching  out 
his  arms  over  the  grave,  he  said  in  a 
loud,  distinct  voice  : 

"  Sleep  in  peace,  brother,  sleep  in 
peace.  I  promise  you  a  glorious  re 
venge." 

Don   Stefano  slowly  descended  the 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


hill,  found  his  horse,  which  had  spent 
the  night  in  nibbling  the  young  tree 
shoots,  and  started  at  a  gallop,  after 
giving  a  parting  glance  to  these  ruins, 
under  which  all  his  happiness  lay  buried. 

No  one  ever  heard  of  Don  Stefano 
again  in  Texas  :  was  he  dead  too,  with 
out  taking  that  vengeance  which  he  had 
sworn  to  achieve  1  no  one  could  say. 
The  Americans  had  also  disappeared 
since  that  awful  night  and  left  no  sign. 
In  these  primitive  countries  things  are 
soon  forgotten  :  life  passes  away  there 
so  rapidly,  and  is  so  full  of  strange  in 
cidents,  that  the  events  of  the  morrow 
obliterate  the  remembrances  of  those 
of  the  eve. 

Ere  long  the  population  of  Texas  had 
completely  forgotten  this  terrible  catas 
trophe. 

Every  year,  however,  a  man  appear 
ed  on  the  hill  where  the  hacienda  once 
stood,  whose  ruins  the  luxuriant  vegeta 
tion  of  the  country  had  long  ago  over 
grown  ;  this  man  seated  himself  on  the 
bilent  ruins,  and  passed  the  whole  night 
with  his  face  buried  in  his  hands. 

What  did  he  there  1 

Whence  did  he  come  ? 

Who  was  he  ? 

These  three  questions  ever  remained 
unanswered,  for  at  daybreak  the  stran 
ger  rode  off  again,  not  to  return  till  the 
following  year  on  the  anniversary  of 
the  frightful  tragedy. 

One  strange  fact  was  proved  howev 
er,  after  every  visit  paid  by  this  man — 
one,  two,  or  even  sometimes  three  hor 
ribly  mutilated  human  heads  were 
found  lying  on  the  hill. 

What  demoniac  task  was  this  incom 
prehensible  being  performing?  Was 
it  Don  Stefano  pursuing  his  vengeance  ? 

We  shall  probably  see  presently. 


CHAPTER  XXIL 

EXPLANATORY. 

WE  are  compelled  to  retrograde  a 
short  distance  in  our  story,  in  order  to 
explain  to  the  reader  the  arrival  of  that 
help  which  in  an  instant  altered  the  face 
of  the  fight,  and  saved  Valentine  and 


his  friends  from  captivity,  probably 
from  death. 

Unicorn  carefully  watched  the  move 
ments  of  Red  Cedar  and  his  band ; 
since  the  Pirate's  arrival  on  the  desert 
he  had  not  once  let  him  out  of  sight. 
Hidden  in  the  chapparal  on  the  river 
bank,  he  had  been  an  unseen  spectator 
of  the  bandit's  fight  with  the  hunters  ; 
but,  with  that  caution  which  forms  the 
basis  of  the  Indian  character,  he  had 
left  his  friends  perfect  liberty  to  act  as 
they  thought  proper,  with  the  design  of 
interfering  when  necessary. 

When  he  saw  the  Pirates  disarmed, 
and  reduced  to  his  last  shifts,  he  con 
sidered  it  useless  to  follow  him  longer, 
and  proceeded  in  the  direction  of  his 
village,  to  assemble  his  warriors,  and 
go  at  their  head  to  attack  the  camp  of 
the  scalp-hunters. 

The  Comanche  Chief  was  alone  with 
his  squaw,  from  whom  he  scarcely  ever 
separated ;  they  were  both  galloping 
along  the  bank  of  the  Gila,  being  care 
ful  to  hide  themselves  among  the 
brushwood,  when  suddenly  deafening 
cries,  mingled  with  shots,  and  the  hasty- 
gallop  of  a  horse,  struck  his  ears. 

Unicorn  made  his  companion  a  signal 
to  halt,  and  dismounted ;  then,  cauti 
ously  crawling  among  the  trees,  he 
glided  like  a  serpent  through  the  tall 
grass  to  the  skirt  of  the  clapparal 
which  sheltered  him.  On  reaching  this 
point  he  cautiously  rose  on  his  knees 
and  looked  out. 

A  man,  bearing  a  fainting  woman 
across  his  saddle-bow,  was  coming  up 
at  full  speed ;  in  the  distance  several 
Indian  warriors,  doubtless  wearied  of 
an  useless  pursuit,  were  slowly  retiring, 
while  the  fugitive  rapidly  drew  nearer 
Unicorn. 

The  chief  perceived  at  the  first  glancs 
that  he  was  a  white. 

On  arriving  within  a  short  distance 
of  the  spot  where  he  lay  in  ambush, 
the  new  comer  looked  round  several 
times  nervously ;  then  he  dismounted, 
took  the  female  in  his  arms,  laid  her 
tenderly  on  the  grass,  and  ran  to  the 
river  to  fill  his  hat  with  water. 

It  was  Harry,  the  Canadian  hunter, 
and  the  female  was  Ellen. 

So  soon  as  he  had  gone  off,  Unicorn 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


97 


started  from  his  hiding-place,  giving  his 
wife  a  sign  to  follow  him,  and  both  ap 
proached  the  maiden,  who  was  lying 
senseless  on  the  ground. 

Sunbeam  knelt  by  the  side  of  the 
American  girl,  gently  raised  her  head, 
and  began  paying  her  those  delicate  at 
tentions  of  which  women  alone  possess 
the  secret. 

Almost  immediately  after,  Harry 
ran  up ;  but  at  the  sight  of  the  Indian 
he  hurriedly  dropped  his  hat,  and  drew 
a  pistol  from  his  girdle. 

"Wah!"  Unicorn  said  quickly,  "my 
pale  brother  need  not  pull  out  his 
weapons — I  am  a  friend." 

"A  friend?"  Harry  replied,  ill- 
humoredly  ;  "can  a  red-skin  warrior 
be  the  friend  of  a  white  man1?" 

The  chief  crossed  his  arms  on  his 
broad  chest,  and  boldly  walked  up  to 
the  hunter. 

"  I  was  hidden  ten  paces  from  you," 
he  said ;  "  had  I  been  an  enemy,  the 
pale-face  would  have  been  dead  ere 
now." 

The  Canadian  shook  his  head. 

"  That  is  possible,"  he  said ;  "  may 
heaven  grant  that  you  speak  frankly, 
for  the  struggle  I  have  gone  through  in 
saving  this  poor  girl  has  so  exhausted 
me  that  I  could  not  defend  her  against 
you." 

"  Good  !"  the  Indian  continued,  "  she 
has  nothing  to  fear ;  Unicorn  is  chief 
of  his  nation,  when  he  gives  his  word 
he  must  be  believed." 

And  he  honestly  offered  his  hand  to 
the  hunter. 

The  latter  hesitated  for  a  moment, 
then  suddenly  forming  a  resolution,  he 
cordially  pressed  the  hand,  saying  : 

"I  believe  you,  chief;  your  name  is 
known  to  me ;  you  have  the  reputation 
of  a  wise  man  and  brave  warrior,  so  I 
trust  to  you ;  but  I  implore  you  to 
help  me  in  recovering  this  unhappy 
girl." 

Sunbeam  gently  raised  her  head,  and 
gave  the  hunter  a  glance  of  tender 
sympathy,  as  she  said  in  her  harmo 
nious  voice : 

"  The  pale  virgin  runs  no  danger,  in 
a  few  minutes  she  will  come  to  herself 
again  ;  my  brother  may  be  at  his  ease." 

"  Thanks,  thanks,  young  woman,"  the 


Canadian  said,  warmly  ;  "  the  hope  you 
give  me  fills  me  with  joy ;  I  can  now 
think  about  avenging  my  poor  Dick." 

"  What  does  my  brother  mean  ?"  the 
chief  asked,  surprised  at  the  flash  of 
fury  from  the  hunter's  dark  eye. 

The  latter,  reassured  as  -to  the  state 
of  his  companion,  and  attracted  by  the 
open  and  honest  reception  the  Indian 
gave  him,  did  not  hesitate  to  confide  to 
him  not  only  what  had  occurred  to  him 
self,  but  also  the  causes  which  had 
brought  him  into  this  deserted  country. 

"  Now,"  he  said  in  the  close,  "  I  have 
only  one  desire — to  place  this  girl  in 
security,  and  then  avenge  my  friend." 

The  Indian  has  listened  unmoved  and 
without  interruption  to  the  hunter's 
long  story. 

When  he  had  finished  he  seemed  to 
reflect  for  some  minutes,  and  then  an 
swered  the  Canadian,  as  he  laid  his 
hand  on  his  shoulder  : 

"  Then  my  brother  wishes  to  take 
vengeance  on  the  Apaches  ?" 

"  Yes !"  the  hunter  exclaimed ;  "  so 
soon  as  this  girl  is  in  a  safe  place  I  will 
go  on  their  trail." 

"  Ah  !"  the  Indian  said,  as  he  shook 
his  head,  "  one  man  cannot  fight  with 
fifty." 

"I  do  not  care  for  the  number  of 
my  enemies  so  long  as  I  can  come  up 
with  them." 

Unicorn  gave  the  daring  young  man 
an  admiring  glance. 

"  Good  !"  he  said,  "  my  brother  is 
brave — I  will  help  him  to  his  ven 
geance." 

At  this  moment  Ellen  partly  opened 
her  eyes. 

"  Where  am  I  ?"  she  murmured. 

"  Reassure  yourself,  Ellen,"  the  hun 
ter  replied  ;  "  for  the  moment  at  least 
you  have  nothing  to  fear  as  you  are 
surrounded  by  friends." 

"  Where  is  Dona  Clara  ?  I  do  not 
see  her,"  she  continued,  in  a  weak 
voice. 

"I  will  tell  you  presently,  Ellen, 
what  has  happened  to  her,"  the  hunter 
remarked. 

Ellen  sighed  and  was  silent ;  she  un 
derstood  that  Harry  would  not  tell  her 
fresh  misfortune  in  her  present  state  of 
weakness.  Owing  to  Sunbeam's  in- 


98 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


creasing  attentions  she,  however,  soon 
completely  regained  her  senses. 

"  Does  my  sister  feel  her  strength  re 
turned  ?"  the  squaw  asked  her  anxiously. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  "I  am  quite  well 
now." 

Unicorn  looked  fixedly  at  her. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  my  sister  is  at  pre 
sent  in  a  condition  to  travel.  It  is  time 
to  start,  our  road  is  long;  Sunbeam 
will  give  her  horse  to  the  pale  virgin, 
that  she  may  be  able  to  follow  us." 

"  Where  do  you  intend  taking  us, 
chief?"  the  hunter  asked,  with  badly- 
veiled  anxiety. 

"  Did  not  my  brother  say  that  he 
wished  to  avenge  himself  2" 

"  Yes,  I  did." 

"  Well,  he  can  follow  me,  and  I  will 
lead  him  to  those  who  will  help  him." 

"  Hum  !"  the  Canadian  muttered,  "  I 
require  nobody  for  that." 

"  My  brother  is  mistaken ;  he  re 
quires  allies,  for  the  enemy  he  will  have 
to  fight  is  powerful." 

"  That  is  possible.  But  I  should  like 
to  know  these  allies,  at  any  rate ;  I  am 
not  inclined  to  league  myself  with  the 
villainous  bandits,  who  flock  to  the  de 
sert  and  dishonor  our  color.  I  am  a 
frank  and  honest  hunter,  for  my  part." 

"  My  brother  has  spoken  well,"  the 
chief  answered,  with  a  smile;  "he  can 
be  at  rest,  and  place  entire  confidence  in 
those  to  whom  I  am  about  to  lead  him." 

"  Who  are  they,  then  ?" 

"  One  is  the  father  of  the  maiden  the 
Apaches  have  carried  off,  the  others — " 

"  Stay,  chief,"  the  hunter  quickly  ex 
claimed,  "that  is  sufficient,  I  do  not 
want  to  know  the  rest.  We  will  start 
when  you  please,  and  I  will  follow  you 
anywhere." 

"  Good ;  my  brother  will  get  the 
horses  ready,  while  I  give  some  indis 
pensable  orders  to  my  squaw." 

Harry  bowed  in  sign  of  acquiesance, 
and  deftly  accomplished  the  task,  while 
the  Comanche  took  his  wife  aside,  and 
conversed  with  her  in  a  whisper. 

"  Now  we  will  go,"  the  Comanche 
said,  as  he  returned  to  the  hunter. 

"  Does  not  Sunbeam  accompany  us  T 
Ellen  asked. 

"  No,"  the  chief  answered  laconically. 

The    young    Indian   woman    smiled 


pleasantly  on  the  squatter's  daughter 
and  gliding  swiftly  among  the  trees,  dis 
appeared  almost  instantaneously. 

The  others  mounted  and  started  at  a 
gallop  in  the  opposite  direction. 

The  Comanche  warrior  fancied  he 
knew  where  to  find  Valentine  and  his 
comrades,  and  hence  went  in  a  direct 
line  to  the  Teocali. 

After  the  Trail-hunter's  departure, 
Don  Miguel  and  the  other  characters  of 
our  story,  who  remained  in  Blood  son's 
fortress,  continued  to  sleep  peaceably 
for  several  hours,  and  when  they  awoke 
the  sun  was  already  high  on  the  hori 
zon. 

The  haciendero  and  the  general, 
fatigued  by  the  emotions  of  the  preced 
ing  day,  and  but  little  accustomed  to 
desert  life,  had  yielded  to  sleep  like  men 
who  require  to  regain  their  strength; 
when  they  opened  their  eyes,  a  plentiful 
meal  awaited  them. 

Several  days  passed  without  any  in 
cident. 

The  stranger,  in  spite  of  the  cordiality 
of  his  reception,  maintained  a  certain 
degree  of  reserve  with  his  guests,  only 
speaking  to  them  when  it  was  absolute 
ly  necessary,  but  never  seeking  to  begin 
with  them  one  of  those  conversations  in 
which  people  gradually  forget  them 
selves,  and  insensibly  glide  into  confi 
dential  talk.  There  was  something  frigid 
about  the  manner  of  this  strange  man, 
which  could  not  be  explained,  but  which 
prevented  any  friendly  relations. 

One  evening,  at  the  moment  when 
Don  Miguel  and  the  general  were  pre 
paring  to  lie  down  on  the  skins  of  wild 
beasts,  which  served  as  their  bed,  their 
host  approached  them. 

Through  the  day  the  two  gentlemen 
had  noticed  a  certain  agitation  among 
the  denizens  in  the  Teocali.  An  un 
usual  excitement  had  prevailed,  and  it 
was  plain  that  Bloodson  was  about  to 
attempt  one  of  those  daring  expeditions 
to  which  he  was  accustomed. 

Although  the  two  Mexicans  eagerly 
desired  to  know  their  host's  projects, 
they  were  too  much  men  of  the  world 
to  question  him,  and  restrained  their 
curiosity  while  patiently  awaiting  an 
explanation  which  he  would  not  faV 
soon  to  give  them. 


THE    PIRATES    OF   THE   PRAIRIES. 


99 


"  Good  news,  caballeros,"  he  said,  as 
he  joined  them. 

"Oh,  oh!"  the  general  muttered, 
"  that's  novel  fruit  here." 

Don  Miguel  awaited  their  host's  ex 
planation. 

"  One  of  my  friends,"  Bloodson  con 
tinued,  "  arrived  here  this  morning,  ac 
companied  by  a  Canadian  hunter  and 
Red  Cedar's  daughter." 

At  this  unexpected  good  news  the 
Mexicans  started  with  joy  and  surprise. 

"Ah,"  Don  Miguel  said,  "she  will 
be  a  precious  hostage  for  us." 

"  That  is  what  1  thought,"  Bloodson 
continued  ;  "  however,  the  poor  child  is 
perfectly  innocent  of  her  father's  crimes; 
and  if  she  is  at  this  moment  in  our 
power,  it  is  only  because  she  wished  to 
save  your  daughter,  Don  Miguel." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  the  hacien- 
dero  asked,  with  an  internal  tremor. 

"  You  shall  understand  it,"  Bloodson 
answered. 

And  without  any  further  preamble, 
he  told  his  listeners  all  the  details  con 
nected  with  the  flight  of  the  girls,  which 
the  reader  already  knows. 

When  he  had  finished  his  narrative 
there  was  a  moment's  silence. 

''The  position  is  a  serious  one,"  the 
general  said,  shaking  his  head. 

"  We  must  save  our  friends,  at  all 
risks,"  Don  Miguel  exclaimed,  impetu 
ously. 

"  That  is  my  intention,"  said  Blood- 
son  ;  "  at  present  the  position  of  affairs 
is  improved." 

"  How  so?"  the  haciendero  asked. 

"  Because  it  is  better  for  Dona  Clara 
to  be  a  prisoner  with  the  Apaches  than 
with  Red  Cedar." 

"  That  is  true,"  Don  Miguel  observed. 
'  How  can  we  get  her  out  of  their 
asked  the  general, 
does  not  embarrass  me," 
said  ;  "  to-morrow,  at  day 
break,  we  will  start  with  all  our  people, 
and  go  to  Unicorn's  village,  who  will 
join  his  warriors  to  ours,  and  then  we 
will  attack  the  Apaches  in  their  vil 
lage." 

"  Very  good ;  but  shall  we  be  sure 
of  findin^my  daughter  at  the  village  ?" 

"  In  the  desert  everything  is  seen  and 
known.  Do  you  fancy  that  Don  Val- 


clutches? 

"  That 

Bloodson 


entine  has  remained  inactive  since  ha 
left  us  ?  You  may  feel  assured  that  he 
has  long  been  on  the  trail  of  the  young 
lady,  if  he  has  not  already  liberated 
her." 

"  May  heaven  grant  it,"  the  father 
remarked  with  a  mournful  sigh  ;  "  but 
who  will  advise  us  of  what  he  has 
done  ?" 

"  Himself,  you  may  be  convinced  of 
that.  Still,  as  we  are  a  very  long  dis 
tance  from  the  village  where  your 
daughter  is  probably  confined,  we  must 
hasten  to  get  nearer  to  her  ;  hence,  my 
guests,  get  up  your  strength,  for  to 
morrow  will  be  a  tiring  day,  I  warn 
you.  Now,  permit  me  to  wish  you 
good  night,  and  leave  you,  in  order  to 
give  my  final  orders." 

"  One  word  more,  I  beg  of  you." 

"Speak." 

"  What  do  you  intend  doing  with  the 
girl  whom  a  strange  accident  has  thrown 
into  your  power  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know  ;  events  will  decide 
her  fate  ;  1  shall  regulate  my  conduct 
by  that  of  our  common  enemy." 

"You  said  yourself,"  Don  Miguel 
continued,  "  that  the  girl  is  innocent  of 
her  father's  crimes." 

Bloodson  gave  him  a  peculiar  glance 

"  Do  you  not  know,  Don  Miguel," 
he  answered,  in  a  hollow  voice,  "that 
in  this  world  the  innocent  always  suffer 
for  the  guilty  ?" 

And,  not  adding  a  word  further,  he 
gave  the  Mexicans  a  profound  bow,  and 
slowly  retired. 

The  two  gentlemen  looked  after  him, 
as  he  gradually  disappeared  in  the  gloom 
of  the  Teocali ;  then  they  fell  back  on 
their  beds  despondingly,  not  daring  to 
impart  to  each  other  the  sorrowful 
thoughts  that  oppressed  them. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

APACHES    AND    COMANCHES. 

AT  daybreak  some  forty  horsemen, 
at  whose  head  rode  Bloodson,  Don 
Miguel  Zarate,  and  General  Ibanez, 
started  in  the  direction  of  the  Coman- 
che  village,  guided  by  Unicorn. 


100 


THE    PIKATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


In  the  midst  of  the  band  rode  Ellen, 
closely  watched,  and  Harry,  who  would 
not  leave  her  for  a  moment,  galloped  by 
her  side. 

The  maiden  had  guessed,  in  spite  of 
the  attentions  offered  her,  or  perhaps 
through  them,  that  she  was  regarded 
rather  as  a  prisoner  than  a  friend  by  the 
men  who  surrounded  her.  Hence,  on 
leaving  the  Teocali,  she  had  given  Har 
ry  a  suppliant  glance  to  remain  by  her 
side. 

The  hunter  had  understood  this  glance, 
and,  in  spite  of  all  that  Bloodson  urged 
to  induce  him  to  ride  with  him  at  the 
head  of  the  party,  he  obstinately  re 
mained  by  Ellen's  side. 

By  a  strange  coincidence,  at  the  very 
moment  when  the  partizans,  guided  by 
llnicorn,  were  leaving  the  Teocali  to  go 
in  search  of  news  of  their  friends  at  the 
Oornanche  village,  the  latter  were  exe 
cuting  their  miraculous  flight,  had  left 
the  islet  on  which  they  had  defended 
themselves  so  bravely,  and,  after  boldly 
crossing  the  Apache  camp,  were  also 
proceeding,  though  by  a  different  route, 
•to  the  same  village. 

The  march  of  a  numerous  party  in 
the  desert  is  generally  less  rapid  than 
that  of  a  few  men,  and  it  is  easy  of  ex 
planation. 

Two  or  three  men  proceeding  to 
gether  pass  without  difficulty  anywhere, 
gliding  through  the  chapparal,  and  fol 
lowing  the  track  of  wild  beasts;  but 
some  forty  persons  compelled  to  adopt 
the  Indian  file,  that  is  to  say,  march  one 
after  the  other,  along  these  problemati 
cal  paths,  scarce  wide  enough  for  one 
horseman,  are  constrained  to  check  their 
pace,  and  advance  with  extreme  precau 
tion,  especially  on  an  expedition  of  the 
sort  the  partizans  were  now  undertak- 

'  ing. 

Hence,  in  spite  of  all  the  diligence 
they  displayed,  they  advanced  but 
slowly. 

The  ruddy  disc  of  the  sun  was  rapidly 
descending  on  the  horizon,  the  shadow 
of  the  lofty  trees  was  lengthening  more 
and  more,  the  evening  breeze  was  be 
ginning  to  sough  through  the  virgin 
forest,  which  extended  for  an  enormous 
distance  on  the  right  of  the  travellers, 
•while  on  the  river  bank  the  alligators 


were  clumsily  leaving  the  bed  of  mud 
in  which  they  had  been  slothfully  wal 


lowing,  and    were 


the   deep 


waters  of  the  Gila. 

The  horses  and  riders,  harassed  by 
the  fatigues  of  a  long  journey,  were 
slowly  dragging  along,  when  Unicorn, 
who  was  about  one  hundred  yards 
ahead,  suddenly  turned  back  and  rejoin 
ed  his  comrades,  who  at  once  halted. 

"What  is  the  matter1?"  Bloodson 
asked,  so  soon  as  the  chief  found  him  ; 
"has  my  brother  seen  anything  that 
alarms  him  ?" 

"Yes,"  the  Indian  laconically  replied. 

"  1  arn  waiting  for  my  brother  to  ex 
plain."  • 

"  The  desert  is  not  quiet,"  the  chief 
went  on  in  a  grave  voice  ;  V  the  vultures 
and  white-headed  eagles  are  flying  in 
long  circles,  the  deer  and  buffaloes  are 
restless,  the  asshatas  are  bounding  in 
every  direction,  and  the  antelopes  flying 
with  all  the  speed  of  their  limbs  north 
ward." 

Bloodson  frowned  and  waited  a  mo 
ment  ere  he  replied.  The  Mexicans  ex 
amined  him  anxiously,  but  at  length  he 
raised  his  head. 

"  What  do  you  conclude  from  these 
signs  r 

"  This  :  the.  Apaches  are  crossing  the 
prairie ;  they  are  numerous,  for  the  de 
sert  is  disturbed  for  a  very  considerable 
extent." 

"  Why  the  Apaches  sooner  than 
others?"  Bloodson  answered.  "Cannot 
wood-rangers  have  produced  the  excite 
ment  you  have  noticed,  as  well  as  the 
Indians  ?" 

The  Comanche  warrior  shook  his  head 
in  contradiction. 

"  They  are  Apaches,"  he  said,  per 
emptorily.  "  This  is  not  the  season  of 
the  great  hunts,  the  animals  are  not 
troubled  by  man  at  this  period  of  the 
year.  They  know  it,  and  do  not  despe 
rately  fly  from  him,  as  they  are  certain 
of  not  being  pursued.  The  wood- 
rangers  march  alone,  or  only  three  or 
four  together,  employing  precautions 
not  to  startle  the  game.  But  the  Apa 
ches  are  ignorant  dogs,  who,  like  the 
coyotes  they  resemble,  contii^ally  as 
semble  in  large  parties,  and,  instead  of 
marching  like  men  or  warriors,  pass 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


101 


like  a  hurricane  over  the  prairie,  burn 
ing,  destroying,  and  devastating  every 
thing  in  their  passage." 

"  That  is  true,"  Bloodson  muttered  ; 
"  your  sagacity  has  not  deceived  you, 
chief;  only  the  Apaches  can  be  near 
here." 

"  Good ;  and  what  will  my  brother 
do  V1  the  Comanche  asked. 

The  stranger's  eye  flashed  fire. 

"  We  will  fight  them,"  he  said. 

The  Indian  gave  an  almost  impercep 
tible  shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

"  No,"  he  said;  "that  is  no  good;  we 
must  not  fight  at  this  moment." 

"  Speak  then,  in  the  devil's  name," 
the  stranger  'exclaimed,  impatiently, 
"and  explain  your  plan  to  us." 

The  Indian  smiled. 

"  My  brother  is  quick,"  he  said. 

Bloodson,  ashamed  of  having  given 
way  to  his  temper,  had  already  regained 
his  coolness. 

"  Pardon  me,  chief;  I  was  wrong." 

And  he  held  out  his  hand,  which  Uni 
corn  took  and  pressed  warmly. 

"  My  brother  is  wise,"  he  replied  ; 
"  I  know  that  he  did  not  wish  to  insult 
a  friend." 

"  Speak,  chief;  time  is  slipping  away  ; 
explain  your  plan  to  me." 

"  Behind  that  hill  is  Unicorn's  village ; 
the  warriors  will  remain  here  while  he 
advances  alone,  in  order  to  know  what 
is  going  on." 

"  Good ;  my  brother  can  go ;  we  will 
wait." 

In  the  desert,  long  conversations  are 
not  the  fashion  ;  moments  are  too  pre 
cious  to  be  lost  in  words. 

The  Indian  set  spurs  to  his  horse  and 
went  off,  and  he  soon  disappeared  from 
their  sight. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  what  the 
chief  has  just  told  us1?"  the  general 
asked. 

"  It  is  very  serious,"  the  stranger  an 
swered.  "  The  Indians  have  an  extra 
ordinary  skill  for  discovering  what  goes 
on  in  the  desert — they  have  an  infallible 
instinct  which  never  deceives  them. 
This  man  is  one  of  the  most  intelligent 
I  know.  1^  am  only  acquainted  with 
two  men  inTthe  world  capable  of  con 
tending  with  him — that  frightful  scoun 
drel,  Ked  Cedar,  and  Don  Valentine, 


that  French  hunter  whom  the  Indians 
themselves  have  surnamed  the  Trail- 
Hunter." 

"  Ah  !"  Don  Miguel  said,  "  then  your 
opinion  is " 

"  That  we  must  await  the  result  of 
the  step  Unicorn  is  taking  at  this  mo 
ment  ;  his  village  is  only  an  hour's 
march  at  the  most  from  the  spot  where 
we  now  are.1' 

"  But,  in  that  case,  why  stop  us  ?" 

"  An  Indian  never  returns  home  till 
he  has  assured  himself  that  all  is  in 
order.  Who  can  foresee  what  has  hap 
pened  during  his  absence  ?" 

"  That  is  true  ;  let  us  wait,  then,"  the 
haciendero  said,  stifling  a  sigh. 

Nearly  an  hour  passed  thus.  All  the 
partizans  seated  on  their  horses,  with 
their  finger  on  the  trigger  of  their  rifle, 
remained  motionless  as  bronze  statues. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  sun  had  set  in 
a  mist  of  vapor,  the  shadow  spread 
gradually  over  the  desert  like  a  thick 
winding-sheet,  and  the  stars  were  slowly 
lit  up  in  the  dark  blue  sky. 

Still  Unicorn  did  not  return. 

The  hunters  did  not  exchange  a  word  ; 
each,  persuaded  in  his  heart  that  the 
position  was  a  serious  one,  was  reflect^ 
ing  deeply. 

Not  a  sound  was  audible,  save  the 
hoarse  and  continuous  rustling  of  the 
Rio  Gila  over  the  pebbles  and  rocks 
that  border  its  banks. 

Suddenly,  Bloodson,  whose  eyo  had 
been  obstinately  fixed  in  the  direction 
where  the  Comanche  Chief  had  disap 
peared,  gave  a  slight  start  and  whispered 
in  Don  Miguel's  ear : 

"  Here  he  is." 

In  fact,  the  gallop  of  a  horse  was 
heard  gradually  drawing  nearer  till  the 
chief  reappeared. 

"  Well  T'  the  stranger  shouted  •  to 
him. 

"  Koutonepi  and  the  pale  virgin  are 
in  the  village,"  he  said  ;  "  the  hunter 
has  delivered  the  maiden." 

"  May  Heaven  be  praised !"  Don 
Miguel  said,  fervently. 

Unicorn  looked  at  him  sadly. 

"The  Apaches  are  pursuing  them," 
he  added  ;  "  at  this  moment  the  village 
is  being  attacked,  but  our  friends  de 
fend  themselves  bravely." 


102 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


"  Let  us  fly  to  their  help,"  the  Mexi 
cans  shouted. 

Bloodson  turned  to  them. 

"  Patience,"  he  said ;  "  let  the  chief 
explain." 

"  My  pale  brother,"  the  Comanche 
continued,  "  with  one-half  of  the  war 
riors,  will  turn  the  hill  and  enter  the 
village  by  the  north,  while  I,  with  the 
other  half,  will  enter  by  the  south." 

"  Good,"  said  Bloodson ;  "  but  we 
are  far  off  yet ;  perhaps  our  friends 
will  be  unable  to  hold  out  till  our  ar 
rival." 

Unicorn  smiled  scornfully. 

"The  Apaches  are  cowardly  dogs," 
he  said.  "  The  Comanches  will  defend 
themselves  :  they  know  not  flight." 

Without  replying,  the  partizan  di 
vided  his  band,  taking  the  command  of 
one  party,  and  entrusting  the  other  to 
the  Corruinche  warrior. 

All  these  men  were  Indians,  long 
habituated  to  a  war  of  ambushes  and 
surprises  :  this  bold  stroke  was  a  God 
send  to  them  :  with  flashing  eyes  and 
quivering  lips,  though  apparently  un 
moved,  they  impatiently  awaited  the 
signal  for  departure. 

"  Let  us  go,"  Bloodson  vociferated, 
brandishing  his  rifle  over  his  head. 

All  bent  over  their  horses'  rnanes 
and  started  forward. 

On  reaching  the  foot  of  the  hill  one 
band  went  to  the  right,  the  other  to  the 
left,  Ellen  remaining  behind,  under  the 
guard  of  a  few  warriors  and  the  Cana 
dian  hunter,  who  would  not  leave  her. 

This  little  band  moved  forward  gen 
tly  as  a  rearguard. 

In  the  meanwhile,  the  partizans 
reached  the  village  at  headlong  speed  ; 
and  it  was  high  time  for  them  to  arrive, 
for  the  huts,  enveloped  in  flames,  re 
sembled  a  volcano.  By  the  gleam  of 
the  fire,  shadows  could  be  seen  darting 
hither  and  thither ;  and  shouts  of  pain 
and  rage,  mingled  with  the  discharge  of 
fire-arjtns,  incessantly  rose  from  this 
burning  mass. 

The  partizans  rushed  into  this  horri 
ble  furnace,  uttering  their  war-yell  and 
brandishing  their  arms,  and  the  medley 
became  frightful. 

The  Apaches,  thus  attacked  on  two 


sides  simultaneously,  underwent  a  mo 
mentary  stupor,  which  soon  changed 
into  a  panic  and  utter  rout,  at  the  sight 
of  these  new  opponents,  who  seemed  to 
rise  from  the  ground  to  crush  them,  and 
change  their  triumph  into  a  defeat. 

But  flight  was  not  easy. 

The  entire  population  of  the  village 
was  under  arms :  women  and  children, 
electrified  by  their  example,  and  join 
ing  the  warriors,  rushed  madly  on  the 
Apaches,  who,  seeing  their  surprise 
foiled,  only  tried  to  reach  the  open 
country  again. 

For  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  massacre 
was  fearful. 

At  length  the  Apaches,  led  by  Stana- 
pat  and  Black  Cat,  who  vainly  perform 
ed  prodigies  of  valor  in  order  to  re 
store  the  chances  of  the  fight,  succeed 
ed  in  clearing  a  gap  through  their  ene 
mies,  and  rushed  in  every  direction, 
closely  followed  by  the  Comanches, 
who  felled  them  with  their  war-clubs 
and  pitilessly  scalped  them. 

Only  one  band  still  resisted. 

Leaning  against  the  palisades,  which 
they  had  not  yet  found  time  to  cross, 
the  Pirates,  bearing  in  their  midst  the 
body  of  their  beloved  Gazelle,  had  re 
coiled  inch  by  inch  before  the  enemies 
who  enveloped  them  on  all  sides,  dash 
ing  forward  every  now  and  then,  and 
compelling  their  foes  to  give  ground  in 
their  turn. 

But  the  struggle  was  too  unequal, 
and  a  long  resistance  soon  became  im 
possible. 

The  Pirates,  skilfully  profiting  by  a 
moment  of  disorder,  started  to  fly  each 
in  a  different  direction,  hoping  to  escape 
more  easily  in  this  way. 

Sand  oval  had  taken  on  his  robust 
shoulders  the  body  of  the  girl,  and  with 
an  extraordinary  effort,  which  despair 
alone  made  successful,  had  leaped  out 
on  the  plain,  where  he  hoped  to  conceal 
himself  in  the  grass. 

He  would  have  probably  succeeded 
in  this,  but  he  had  to  do  with  four  men, 
who  seemed  to  have  made  up  their 
minds  to  hunt  him  down. 

At  the  moment  he  drew  himself  up 
after  his  leap,  Valentine  and  his  com 
rades  threw  themselves  upon  him,  with- 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


103 


out  giving  him  time  to  defend  himself, 
and,  in  spite  of  his  desperate  resistance 
and  furious  yells,  tied  him  securely. 

The  old  Pirate,  on  finding  himself  a 
prisoner,  let  his  head  sink  on  his  chest, 
and  giving  a  sad  glance  at  the  girl  he 
had  been  unable  to  save,  he  gave  vent 
to  a  deep  sigh,  and  a  burning  tear  si 
lently  coursed  down  his  furrowed 
cheeks. 

At  the  same  moment  Ellen  entered 
the  village,  in  the  middle  of  her  escort : 
on  seeing  her,  Valentine  started. 

"Oh!"  he  muttered;  "where  is 
Dona  Clara?" 

"  My  daughter,  my  daughter !"  the 
hacienda  exclaimed,  suddenly  appearing 
before  the  hunter,  with  his  clothes  dis 
ordered  and  his  brow  pale  with  fear. 

The  unhappy  father,  since  he  had  en 
tered  the  village,  had  only  attended  to 
one  thing — seeking  his  daughter. 

Followed  step  by  step  by  the  general, 
he  entered  the  thickest  of  the  fight,  ask 
ing  after  his  daughter  of  all  those  he 
met,  thrusting  aside  the  weapons  that 
menaced  him,  and  not  thinking  of  the 
death  which  at  every  moment  rose  be 
fore  him,  under  every  shape.  Protect 
ed,  as  it  were,  by  an  invisible  talisman, 
he  had  traversed  the  whole  village  and 
entered  every  hut  the  fire  had  spared, 
seeing  nothing,  hearing  nothing,  having 
only  one  object — that  of  finding  his 
child. 

Alas  !  his  search  had  been  in  vain. 

Dona  Clara  had  disappeared :  al 
though  Valentine  had  intrusted  her  to 
Shaw,  no  one  knew  what  had  become 
of  her. 

The  haciendero  fell  into  his  friend's 
arms,  and  burst  into  heartrending  sobs. 

"  My  daughter,"  he  groaned.  "  Val 
entine,  restore  my  daughter  to  me  !" 

The  hunter  pressed  him  to  his  manly 
breast. 

"  Courage,  poor  father,"  he  said  to 
him.  "  Courage  !" 

But  the  haciendero  no  longer  heard 
him ;  grief  had  at  length  overpowered 
him,  and  he  fainted  away. 

"  Oh  !"  Valentine  said,  "  Red  Cedar, 
you  viper,  shall  I  never  succeed  in  put 
ting  my  heel  on  your  chest !" 

Aided  by  the  general  and  Don 
Pablo,  he  carried  Don  Miguel  to  the 


medicine  lodge,  which  the  flames  had 
not  reached >  and  laid  him  a  bed  of  dry 
leaves. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

THE  SCALP-DANCE. 

WHEN  the  combat  was  at  an  end,  the 
Comanches  busied  themselves  in  re 
pairing  the  ravages  caused  by  the  Apa 
che  attack.  Though  their  losses  were 
great,  they  were  not  so  serious  as  might 
be  supposed ;  because,  as  the  season 
was  already  far  advanced,  they  had 
sent  the  larger  portion  of  their  property 
to  the  winter  village.  This  accidental 
circumstance  saved  the  greater  part  of 
their  wealth. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  Apaches  had 
been  in  such  haste,  and  the  defence  had 
been  so  promptly  organized  and  obsti 
nate,  that  they  had  found  no  time'  to 
plunder.  Although  all  the  callis  were 
reduced  to  ashes,  that  damage  was  tri 
fling,  and  could  be  repaired  >  in  a  few 
days. 

The  most  serious  part  of  the  affair 
was  the  loss  of  some  twenty  warriors, 
who  had  courageously  fallen  in  the  de 
fence  of  their  homes.  Several  women 
and  children  had  also  fallen ;  but  the 
Apaches  had  suffered  a  far  more  con 
siderable  loss.  Without  counting  more 
than  eighty  warriors  killed  during  the 
rout,  Black  Cat  and  six  other  Apache 
warriors  had  fallen  alive  into  the  power 
of  their  adversaries,  and  a  terrible  fate 
awaited  them. 

"  What  does  my  brother  intend  to  do 
with  his  prisoners'?"  Unicorn  asked 
Valentine. 

"  My  brother  need  not  feel  anxious 
about  them,"  the  latter  answered;  "  they 
are  whites,  and  I  intend  disposing  of 
them  as  I  think  proper." 

"  It  shall  be  done  as  my  brother  de 
sires." 

"  Thanks,  chief;  I  should  feel  obliged, 
however,  by  your  lending  me  two  or 
ihree  warriors  to  guard  them." 

"ft  is  unnecessary,"  Sandoval  inter 
rupted.  "  I  pledge  my  word  of  honor 
and  that  of  my  comrade  not  to  try  and 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


escape  for  the  next  twenty -four  hours." 

Valentine  fixed  on  him  a  glance  that 
seemed  trying  to  read  his  most  secret 
thoughts. 

"  It  is  well,"  he  said  presently.  "  I 
accept  your  parole." 

"Are  you.  going  to  leave  this  poor 
creature  without  help?" 

"You  love  him1?" 

"  As  my  son ;  had  it  not  been  so,  you 
would  not  have  captured  me." 

"Very  good.  We  will  try  to  save 
him  ;  but,  perhaps,  it  would  be  better 
for  him  to  die  at  once." 

"Perhaps  so,"  the  old  Pirate  said, 
Shaking  his  head,  and  speaking,  as  it 
seemed,  to  himself. 

"  In  a  few  moments  the  scalp-dance 
will  begin ;  will  my  brothers  be  present 
at  it?"  Unicorn  asked. 

"  I  will,"  Valentine  replied,  who,  al 
though  caring  very  little  for  this  cere 
mony,  understood  that  it  would  be  im 
politic  not  to  appear  at  it. 

We  have  already  said  that  Ellen  had 
reached  the  village  by  this  time.  On 
seeing  her,  Don  Pablo  felt  his  heart 
quiver  wiih  emotion,  and  he  trembled 
in  all  his  limbs. 

Ellen,  whose  glance  was  idly  wander 
ing  around,  let  her  eyes  settle  accident 
ally  on  him ;  she  suddenly  blushed,  and 
let  her  eyelashes  droop  to  hide  her  look 
of  pleasure. 

Instinctively  she  felt  reassured  on 
finding  she  had  near  her  this  young  man, 
whom,  however,  4  she  hardly  knew,  and 
who  had  only  addressed  her  once  «r 
twice.  A  cry  of  joy  died  away  on  her 
lips. 

Don  Pablo  walked  up  to  her.  He 
had  already  learned  by  what  a  concourse 
of  singular  events  she  had  fallen  into  the 
hands  of  the  partizans. 

"  You  are  free,  senorita,"  he  said  to 
her ;  "  henceforth  you  have  nothing 
more  to  fear  here,  for  you  are  under  my 
protection." 

"  And  mine,"  Harry  said,  roughly,  as 
he  hastily  surveyed  Don  Pablo.  "  I 
alone  am  sufficient  to  defend  Miss  Ellen 
from  any  insult." 

The  two  young  men  exchanged  a  very 
significant  look :  at  the  first  word,  each 
recognized  in  the  other  a  rival. 


"  I  have  no  desire  to  withdraw  Miss 
Ellen  from  your  protection,  caballero," 
the  Mexican  said  coldly.  "Still,  as  you 
are  a  stranger  in  this  village,  where  I 
am  among  devoted  friends,  I  fancy  that 
my  support  will  not  be  useless  to  her, 
and  offer  it — that  is  all." 

"  I  gratefully  accept,  caballero,"  she 
replied  with  a  charming  smile.  "Be 
kind  enough  to  employ  your  influence 
in  procuring  me  some  shelter,  where  I 
can  take  a  few  minutes'  repose,  which  I 
so  greatly  need." 

"  Be  good  enough  to  follow  me,"  ,the 
young  man  answered,  with  a  bow ; 
"your  wishes  shall  be  immediately 
satisfied." 

Ellen  then  turned  to  Harry. 

"  Thanks,  brother,"  she  said  to  him, 
cordially  offering  her  hand.  "Now, 
think  of  yourself;  we  shall  meet  again 
soon." 

Then  she  added,  addressing  Don 
Pablo : 

"  I  follow  you,  caballero." 

The  Canadian  hunter  stood  for  a  mo 
ment  abashed  by  this  hurried  leave-tak 
ing,  but  soon  raised  his  head  again. 

"  Hum  !"  he  muttered,  "  that's  the 
way  she  leaves  me,  is  it  ?  But  why  be 
angry  with  her,  all  women  are  alike — 
and,  then,  I  have  sworn  to  defend  her  1 
Can  I  compel  her  to  love  me  ?" 

And  after  these  philosophical  reflec 
tions,  which  restored  him  all  his  tran 
quillity  of  mind,  he  threw  his  rifle  over 
his  shoulder,  and  quietly  mixed  among 
Bloodson's  partizans. 

Don  Pablo,  in  the  meanwhile,  had 
conducted  the  maiden  to  a  cabin  mira 
culously  preserved  from  the  flames. 

At  the  moment  they  entered,  they 
were  joined  by  Valentine. 

"  Ah,  a  woman,"  he  said,  gaily,  "  all 
the  better." 

And  laying  White  Gazelle  on  the 
buffalo  hides,  he  added  with  a  smile : 

"  Permit  me,  madam,  to  entrust  to 
your  care  this  young  person,  whom  my 
friend  Curumilla  has  half  killed.  We 
must  do  all  our  best  to  restore  life." 

Pedro  Sandoval,  so  soon  as  he  had 
pledged  his  word,  had  been  freed  from 
his  ligatures,  though  his  weapons  were 
taken  from  him. 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


105 


"  Companero,"  he  said,  "  let  the  seno 
rita  do  what  is  necessary;  she  will 
manage  better  than  we  can." 

"  Poor  child !"  Ellen  murmured, 
sympathizingly.  "  Be  assured,  gentle 
men,  that  I  will  take  care  of  her." 

"  Thanks,  madam,  thanks,"  the  old 
Pirate  said,  as  he  several  times  kissed 
the  maiden's  hands.  "  I  would  give  my 
last  drop  of  blood  to  see  her  smile  on 
me  again." 

"  Is  she  your  daughter  ?"  Ellen  asked 
with  interest. 

The  Pirate  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"  We  have  no  children  or  family,  we 
the  accursed  ones  of  civilization,"  he 
said,  in  a  hollow  voice  ;  "  but,  as  I  have 
watched  over  this  poor  girl  almost  since 
her  birth,  I  love  her  as  we  are  capable 
of  loving.  I  have  always  acted  as  her 
father,  and  my  greatest  grief  to-day  is 
to  see  her  suffering  and  be  unable  to  re 
lieve  her." 

"  Leave  that  care  to  me ;  I  hope  you 
will  soon  hear  her  voice  and  see  her 
smile  on  you." 

"  Oh,  do  that,  madam,"  he  exclaimed, 
"  .-aid  1,  who  never  yet  blessed  anything, 
will  worship  you  as  an  angel." 

The  maiden,  affected  by  such  devoted 
love^n  a  nature  so  rough  as  that  of  the 
Pirate,  renewed  her  assurance  of  giving 
the  prisoner  all  the  care  her  position 
demanded,  and  the  two  women  remained 
alone  in  the  tent. 

In  the  meanwhile,  a  new  village  had 
risen,  as  if  by  enchantment,  on  the  ruins 
of  the  old  one.  Within  a  few  hours, 
buffalo-skin  tents  were  erected  in  every 
direction,  and  only  a  few  traces  remain 
ed  of  the  sanguinary  contest  of  which 
the  spot  had  been  the  scene  on  that 
same  day. 

A  fire  was  kindled  in  the  public 
square,  and  the  Apache  prisoners,  fas 
tened  to  stakes  put  up  expressly  for 
them,  were  stoically  awaiting  the  decis 
ion  on  their  fate. 

All  were  getting  ready  for  the  scalp- 
dance,  and  a  great  number  of  men,  tall, 
handsome,  and  well  dressed,  soon  in 
vaded  every  corner  of  the  square. 

Their  faces  were  blackened,  as  were 
those  of  Unicorn  and  Pethonista,  who 
led  them  j  after  these  the  old  women 


and  children  came  up  in  procession,  and 
ranged  themselves  behind  the  men. 

Last  of  all,  the  other  females  came  up 
in  close  column,  two  by  two,  and  occu 
pied  the  centre  of  the  square. 

Seven  warriors  belonging  to  the  Old 
Dogs  formed  the  band  ;  they,  too,  had 
blackened  their  faces,  and  three  of  them 
carried  drums ;  the  other  four,  chichi 
kouis.  The  warriors,  wrapped  in  their 
buffalo  robes,  had  their  heads  uncovered, 
and  generally  adorned  with  feathers, 
which  fell  down  behind.  The  women's 
faces  were  also  painted,  some  black, 
others  red  ;  they  wore  buffalo  robes,  or 
blankets  dyed  of  different  colors.  Two 
or  three,  the  wives  of  the  principal 
chiefs,  had  on  white  buffalo  robes,  and 
wore  on  their  heads  an  eagle  plume, 
placed  perpendicularly. 

As  Sunbeam,  Unicorn's  squaw,  was 
absent,  the  first  wife  of  Pethonista  took 
her  place,  and,  alone,  wore  the  grand 
sacred  cap  of  feathers.  All  the  other 
women  held  in  their  hands  war-clubs  or 
muskets,  decorated  with  red  cloth  and 
small  feathers,  the  butt  of  which  they 
struck  on  the  ground  while  dancing. 

We  will  remark  here,  that  in  the 
scalp- dance  the  women  carry  arms,  and 
put  on  the  war  costume,  to  the  exclu 
sion  of  the  men. 

The  chieftain  ess  stood  at  the  right  ex 
tremity  of  the  band.  She  had  in  her 
hand  a  long  wand,  from  whose  upper 
end  were  suspended  four  scalps,  still 
dripping  with  blood,  surmounted  by  a 
stuffed  jay.  with  outstretched  wings ;  a 
little  lower,  on  the  same  staff,  were  five 
more  scalps. 

Opposite  her  stood  another  woman, 
carrying  eight  scalps  in  the  same  way, 
while  the  majority  of  the  rest  had  either 
one  or  two. 

The  women  formed  a  semicircle  ;  the 
musicians,  placed  on  the  right,  began 
their  deafening  noise,  beating  the  drums 
with  all  their  strength,  singing  their  ex 
ploits,  and  shaking  the  chichikouis. 

The  squaws  then  began  dancing. 

They  took  little  steps,  balancing  to 
the  right  and  left ;  the  two  ends  of  the 
semicircle  advanced  and  fell  back  in 
turn ;  the  dancers  shrieked  at  the  top 
of  their  lungs,  and  produced  a  fearful 


106 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


concert,  which  can  only  be  compared  to 
the  furious  miauwling  of  a  multitude  of 
cats. 

The  Apache  prisoners  were  fastened 
to  stakes  in  the  centre  of  the  circle. 

Each  time  the  women  approached 
them  in  their  evolutions,  they  over 
whelmed  them  with  insults,  spat  in  their 
faces,  and  called  them  cowards,  hares, 
rabbits,  and  dogs  without  hearts. 

The  Apaches  smiled  at  these  insults, 
to  which  they  replied  by  enumerating 
the  losses  they  had  entailed  on  the  Co- 
manches,  and  the  warriors  they  had 
killed. 

When  the  dance  had  lasted  more  than 
an  hour,  the  women,  exhausted  with 
fatigue,  were  compelled  to  rest,  and  the 
men  advanced  in  their  turn,  and  stood 
before  the  prisoners. 

Among  them  was  one  Valentine  would 
have  liked  to  save — it  was  Black  Cat. 

The  hunter  therefore  resolved  to  in 
terfere,  and  employ  all  his  influence 
with  Unicorn  to  obtain  the  life  of  the 
Apache  chief. 

Valentine  did  not  conceal  from  him 
self  the  difficulty  of  such  an  undertaking 
with  men  to  whom  vengeance  is  the  first 
duty,  and  whose  good  will  he  was,  above 
all,  afraid  of  alienating.  But  powerful 
reasons  compelled  him  to  act  thus,  and 
he  resolved  to  attempt  it. 

He  therefore  advanced  without  hesi 
tation  to  Unicorn,  who  was  preparing 
the  punishment  of  the  prisoners,  and 
touched  him  lightly  on  the  arm. 

'*  My  brother  is  the  first  Sachem  of 
the  Comanches,"  he  said  to  him. 

The  chief  bowed  silently. 

"  His  calli,"  Valentine  continued,  in 
an  insinuating  voice,  "  disappears  under 
the  scalps  of  his  enemies,  so  numerous 
are  they,  for  my  brother  is  more  ter 
rible  than  lightning  in  combat." 

The  Indian  regarded  the  hunter  with 
a  proud  smile. 

"  What  does  my  brother  want  ?"  he 
asked. 

"  Unicorn,"  Valentine  continued,  "  is 
no  less  wise  at  the  council  fire  than  he 
is  intrepid  in  battle.  He  is  the  most 
experienced  and  revered  of  the  warriors 
of  his  nation." 

"  My  brother,  the  great  pale  hunter, 
must  explain,  himself  clearly,  in  order 


that  I  may  understand  him,"  the  sachem 
answered,  with  a  shade  of  impatience. 

"  My  brother  will  listen  to  me  for  a 
moment,"  Valentine  continued,  quite 
unmoved.  "  Several  Apache  warriors 
have  fallen  alive  into  his  hands." 

"They  will  die!"  the  chief  said, 
hoarsely. 

"  Why  kill  them?  Would  it  not  be 
better  to  set  a  ransom  on  them  and  send 
them  back  to  their  tribe,  thus  proving 
to  the  Apaches  that  the  Comanches  are 
great  warriors,  who  do  not  fear  them  ?" 

"  The  pale-faces  understand  nothing 
about  war :  a  dead  man  is  no  longer  to 
be  feared.  If  you  pardon  an  enemy, 
you  run  the  risk  of  him  taking  your  scalp 
on  the  morrow.  The  Apaches  must 
die.  They  have  burnt  my  village,  killed 
the  squaws  and  children  of  my  young 
men.  Blood  demands  blood.  They 
have  an  hour  to  live  !" 

"  Very  good,"  the  hunter  replied,  who 
understood  that  if  he  attempted  to  save 
all  the  prisoners  he  should  not  succeed, 
and  was  therefore  compelled,  much 
against  the  grain,  to  compromise;  "the 
warriors  must  die ;  that  is  the  law  of 
war,  and  I  do  not  seek  to  oppose  it;  but 
among  them  there  is  one  for  whom  my 
heart  swells  with  pity." 

"  The  Apache  prisoners  are  mine," 
Unicorn  objected. 

"  1  do  not  deny  it,  and  my  brother 
has  the  right  to  dispose  of  them  as  he 
pleases,  and  I  cannot  object;  hence  I  ask 
a  favor  of  my  brother." 

The  chief  frowned  slightly,  but  Valen 
tine  went  on  without  seeming  to  notice 
the  tacit  dissatisfaction  of  the  Comanche: 

"  I  have  a  great  interest  in  saving  tuis 
man." 

"  My  brother  is  white.  The  pale 
faces  have  a  gilded  tongue ;  they  know 
how  to  find  words  which  say  all  they 
wish.  My  brother  is  aware  that  1  can 
refuse  him  nothing.  Who  is  the  war 
rior  he  desires  to  save  ?" 

"  Does  my  brother  promise  me  that 
the  man  shall  not  perish,  whoever  it 
may  be,  whose  life  1  may  demand?" 

The  Comanche  Chief  was  silent  for  a 
moment,  looking  fixedly  at  the  hunter, 
who  watched  him  with  equal  attention. 

"Unicorn  is  my  friend,"  Valentine 
continued.  "I  have  a  perfectly  new 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


107 


rifle:  if  it  pleases  my  brother,  I  will 
give  it  to  him." 

At  this  insinuation  a  slight  smile  en 
livened  the  chiefs  face. 

"  Good :  I  accept  the  rifle,"  he  an 
swered.  "  It  is  a  proper  weapon  for  a 
.sachem.  My  brother  has  my  word. 
Who  is  the  warrior  he  wishes  to  save  ?" 

"  Black  Cat." 

"  Wah  !  1  suspected  it :  however, 
no  matter,  my  brother  can  be  at  his 
ease.  Black  Cat  shall  be  saved." 

"  I  thank  my  brother,"  Valentine 
said  warmly.  "  I  see  that  his  heart  is 
noble  !  He  is  a  great  warrior  !" 

Then,  after  affectionately  pressing  the 
chiefs  hand,  Valentine  returned  to  his 
station,  suppressing  a  sigh  of  satisfac 
tion. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  TORTURE. 

The  Apaches,  who  had  been  fastened 
for  a  long  time  to  the  stakes  at  which 
they  would  be  tortured,  regarded  the 
terrible  preparations  for  their  atrocious 
punishment  with  a  calm  eye,  and  not  a 
muscle  quivering  in  their  stoical  and 
indifferent  faces.  So  great  was  their 
carelessness,  or,  at  any  rate,  it  appear 
ed  so,  that  you  might  have  fancied  that 
they  were  merely  about  to  figure  as 
spectators  in  the  gloomy  tragedy  pre 
paring,  although  they  were  destined  to 
,play  so  terrible  a  part  in  it. 

So  soon  as  Valentine  left  him,  Uni 
corn  ordered  the  torture  to  commence, 
but  he  suddenly  altered  his  mind. 

"  My  sons,"  he  said,  addressing  the 
Comanche  warriors,  and  pointing  to 
Black  Cat ;  "  this  man  is  a  chief,  and 
as  such  can  claim  an  exceptional  death, 
in  which  he  can  prove  to  us  his  con 
stancy  and  courage  under  suffering. 
Send  him  to  the  happy  hunting  grounds 
in  such  a  way  that  the  warriors  of  his 
nation  whom  he  meets  in  another  life 
may  give  him  a  reception  worthy  of 
him.  To-morrow  the  old  men  and 
chiefs  will  assemble  round  the  council 
fire,  to  invent  a  punishment  meet  for 
him.  Take  him  from  the  stake." 


The  Indians  frenziedly  applauded 
these  words,  which  promised  them  so 
attractive  a  spectacle  for  the  morrow. 

"The  Comanches  are  boasting  and 
cowardly  women,"  Black  Cat  broke 
out ;  "  they  do  not  know  how  to  tor 
ture  warriors.  I  defy  them  to  make 
me  utter  a  groan,  if  the  punishment 
lasted  a  whole  day." 

"  The  Apache  dogs  can  bark,"  Uni 
corn  said  coldly  ;  "  but  if  their  tongue 
is  long,  their  courage  is  short ;  to-mor 
row,  Black  Cat  will  weep  like  a  daugh 
ter  of  the  pale-faces." 

Black  Cat  shrugged  his  shoulders  con 
temptuously,  and  the  Comanehes  re 
peated  their  frenzied  applause. 

"  Unfasten  him/'  Unicorn  command 
ed  a  second  time. 

Several  warriors  approached  the 
Apache  chief,  cut  the  cords  that  bound 
him  to  the  stake,  and  then  secured  his 
limbs  and  threw  him  at  the  foot  of  a 
tree,  Black  Cat  not  deigning  to  make  a 
sign  evidencing  the  slightest  irritation. 

After  exchanging  a  glance  with  Val 
entine,  Unicorn  placed  himself  at  the 
head  of  a  band  of  warriors,  who  form 
ed  a  semi-circle  round  the  prisoners. 

The  chieftainess  placed  herself  oppo 
site  to  him,  with  the  women ;  the  band 
struck  up  more  noisily  than  ever,  and 
the  torture  began. 

The  squaws  and  warriors  danced 
round  the  prisoners,  and  in  passing  be 
fore  them,  each,  whether  a  man  or  wo 
man,  cut  oif  a  strip  of  flesh  with  long, 
sharp  scalping  knives.  In  making 
these  wounds,  the  Comanches  employ 
ed  the  utmost  precaution  to  prevent  the 
knives  running  too  deep  into  the  flesh, 
lest  the  victims  should  run  the  chance 
of  dying  at  once,  which  would  have  un 
pleasantly  modified  the  intention  of  the 
Indians,  by  depriving  them  of  a  sight 
from  which  they  promised  themselves 
so  much  pleasure. 

The  Apaches  smiled  on  their  tortur 
ers,  and  excited  them  ,still  more  by 
telling  them  that  they  did  not  know 
how  to  treat  their  prisoners;  that  their 
wounds  were  only  so  many  mosquito 
stings;  that  the  Apaches  were  far 
more  skilful ;  and  that  the  many  Co 
manche  prisoners  they  had  made  en- 


108 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


dured  in  their   tribe   much  more  atro 
cloys  sufferings. 

The  unfortunate  men  were  in  a  pitia 
ble  state  :  their  bodies  were  only  one 
wound,  from  which  the  blood  streamed 

The  Comanches  grew  excited  anc 
rage  seized  upon  them,  on  hearing  the 
insults  of  their  enemies. 

A  woman  rushed  all  at  once  on  one 
of  the  prisoners  whose  words  were  the 
bitterest,  and  with  her  sharp  and  curved 
talons  tore  out  his  eyes,  which  she 
swallowed  on  the  spot,  saying  to  him : 

"  Dog,  you  shall  not  see  the  sun 
again." 

"  You  have  torn  out  my  eyes,  but 
left  me  my  tongue,"  the  prisoner  re 
plied,  with  a  smile  rendered  more 
hideous  by  the  two  empty  and  bleed 
ing  sockets.  "'Tvvas  I  who  devoured 
the  quivering  heart  of  your  son,  Run 
ning-water,  when  he  entered  my  calli  to 
steal  horses.  Do  what  you  please,  I 
am  revenged  beforehand  !" 

The  woman,  exasperated  by  this  last 
insult,  rushed  upon  him  and  buried  her 
knifr  in  his  heart. 

The    Apache    burst    into    a    hoarse 
laugh,  which  suddenly  changed  into  the 
T  death-rattle,  and  fell  a  corpse  while  ut 
tering  the  words  : 

"  I  said  truly  that  you  do  not  know 
how  to  torture  your  prisoners — dogs, 
rabbits,  thieves !" 

The  Comanches  doubled  their  fury 
on  the  wretched  victims,  incessantly 
hacking  and  stabbing  them,  and  though 
the  majority  were  dead  already,  they 
did  not  leave  off  till  they  had  destroy 
ed  all  appearance  of  humanity.  The 
scalps  were  then  raised,  and  the  victims 
thrown  into  the  fire  prepared  for  them. 

The  Comanches  danced  and  howled 
round  this  fire  until  their  voice  and 
strength  failed  them,  and  they  fell  ex 
hausted,  in  spite  of  the  drums  and 
chichikouis. 

The  men  and  women,  stretched  on 
the  ground  pell-mell,  soon  fell  asleep, 
in  that  strange  state  of  intoxication 
produced  by  the  odor  of  the  blood  shed 
during  this  atrocious  butchery. 

Valentine,  despite  the  almost  insur 
mountable  disgust  this  scene  had  oc 
casioned  him,  did  not  wish  to  retire,  as 
he  feared  lest  Black  Cat  might  be  mas 


sacred  by  the  Comanches  in  a  moment 
of  mad  fury. 

This  precaution  was  not  vain  :  seve 
ral  times,  had  he  not  resolutely  inter 
fered,  the  Apache  Chief  woufd  also 
have  been  sacrificed  to  the  hatred  of  his 
enemies,  who  had  attained  a  paroxysm 
of  fury  impossible  to  describe. 

When  the  camp  was  plunged  in  si 
lence,  and  everybody  asleep,  Valentine 
proceeded  cautiously  in  the  direction 
where  the  Apache  Chief  lay  bound, 
who  watched  him  come  up  with  a  very 
peculiar  glance.  Not  saying  a  word, 
the  h$mter,  after  assuring  himself  that 
nobody  was  watching  his  movements, 
cut  all  the  cords  that  bound  him. 

The  Apache  bounded  like  a  jaguar, 
but  fell  back  again  on  the  ground  ;  the 
cords  had  been  tied  so  securely  that 
they  had  entered  into  his  flesh. 

"My  brother  must  be  prudent,"  the 
Frenchman  said  gently.  "I  wish  to 
save  him." 

He  then  took  his  flask  and  poured  a 
few  drops  of  brandy  on  the  pallid  lips 
of  the  chief,  who  gradually  recovered, 
and  at  length  stood  on  his  feet. 

Bending  a  searching  glance  on  the 
man  who  so  generously  paid  him  atten 
tions  he  was  far  from  expecting,  he  asked 
in  a  hoarse  voice  : 

"  Why  does  the  pale  hunter  wish  to 
save  me  ?" 

"  Because,"  Valentine  answered,  with 
out  hesitation,  "  my  brother  is  a  grea£ 
warrior  in  his  nation,  and  must  not  die. 
He  is  free." 

And  holding  out  his  hand  to  the  chief, 
le  helped  him  to  walk. 

The  Indian  followed  him  unresisting- 
y,  but  without  a  word.  On  reaching 
,he  spot  where  the  horses  of  the  tribe 
were  picketed,  Valentine  selected  one, 
saddled  it,  and  led  it  to  the  Apache, 
who,  during  the  hunter's  short  absence, 
lad  remained  motionless  on  the  same 
pot. 

"  My  brother  will  mount,"  he  said. 

The  warrior  was  still  so  weak  that 
Valentine  was  compelled  to  help  him 
nto  the  saddle. 

"  Can  my  brolhwr  keep  on  his  horse  ?" 
le  asked,  with  tender  solicitude. 

*''  Yes,"  the  Ajmche  answered,  laconi 
cally. 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


109 


The  hunter  took  the  gun,  bow,  and 
panther-skin  quiver  of  the  chief  which 
he  handed  to  him,  saying  gently  : 

"  My  brother  will  take  back  his  arms. 
A  great  warrior  as  he  is  must  not  re 
turn  to  his  tribe  like  a  timid  woman  ; 
he  should  be  able  to  kill  a  stag,  if  he 
met  one  on  the  road." 

The  Indian  seized  the  weapons ;  a  con 
vulsive  tremor  ran  over  his  limbs,  and 
joy  gained  the  victory  over  Indian  stoic 
ism.  This  man,  who  had  faced  a  hor 
rible  death  without  change  of  counte 
nance,  was  conquered  by  the  French 
man's  noble  conduct;  his  granite  heart 
was  softened ;  a  tear,  doubtless  the  first 
he  had  ever  shed,  escaped  from  his 
fever-parched  eyes,  and  a  sob  burst  from 
his  overcharged  breast. 

"  Thanks,"  he  said,  in  a  choking  voice, 
so  soon  as  words  could  find  their  way  to 
to  his  lips ;  "  thanks ;  my  brother  is 
good,  he  has  a  friend." 

u  My  brother  owes  me  nothing,"  the 
hunter  replied,  simply ;  "  I  act  as  my 
heart  and  rny  religion  order  me." 

The  Indian  remained  pensive  for  a 
moment,  then  he  muttered,  shaking  his 
head  dubiously  : 

"  Yes,  I  have  heard  that  said  before, 
by  Father Seraphin,  the  Chief  of  Prayer 
of  the  pale-faces.  Their  God  is  omni 
potent,  He  is  before  all  merciful ;  ir  not 
that  a  blessing  ?" 

"  Remember,  chief,"  Valentine  quiet 
ly  interrupted  him,  "  that  I  save  your 
life  in  the  name  of  Father  Seraphin, 
whom  you  seem  to  know." 

The  Apache  smiled  softly. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  these  are  his  words, 
'  Requite  good  for  evil.'  " 

"  Remember  those  divine  precepts 
which  I  put  in  practice  to-day,"  Valen 
tine  exclaimed,  "  and  they  will  support 
you  in  suffering." 

Black  Cat  shook  his  head. 

"No,"  he  said,  "the  desert  has  its 
its  laws,  which  are  immutable;  the  red 
skins  are  of  a  different  nature  from  the 
pale-faces :  their  law  is  one  of  blood, 
and  they  cannot  alter  it.  Their  law 
says,  *  Eye  for  eye,  and  tooth  for  tooth.' 
The  maxim  is  derived  from  their  fathers, 
and  they  are  obliged  to  submit  to  it, 
and  follow  it;  but  the  red-skins  never 


forget  an  insult  or  a  kindness.  Black 
Cat  has  a  great  memory." 

There  was  a  silence  of  some  minutes, 
during  which  the  two  men  regarded 
each  other  attentively. 

At  length  the  Apache  spoke  again 

"  My  brother  will  lend  me  his  gourd." 

The  hunter  gave  it  to  him ;  the  Apa 
che  quickly  raised  it  to  his  lips,  and  took 
a  mouthful.  Then,  bending  down  to 
Valentine,  he  placed  his  hands  on  his 
shoulders,  and  kissed  him  on  the  lips, 
while  allowing  a  portion  of  the  fluid  he 
held  in  his  mouth  to  pass  into  the  hun 
ter's. 

On  the  prairies  of  the  Far  West  this 
ceremony  is  a  species  of  mysterious  ini 
tiation,  and  the  greatest  mark  of  attach 
ment  one  man  can  give  another.  When 
two  men  have  embraced  in  this  way, 
they  are  henceforth  friends,  whom  no 
thing  can  separate  save  death,  and  they 
help  one  another  without  hesitation 
under  all  circumstances. 

Valentine  knew  this,  and  hence,  in 
spite  of  the  disgust  he  internally  expe 
rienced,  he  did  not  oppose  the  action  of 
the  Apache  Chief.  On  the  contrary,  he 
yielded  to  it  joyfully,  comprehending 
the  immense  advantages  he  should,  at  a 
later  date,  derive  from  this  indissoluble 
alliance  with  one  of  the  most  influential 
Apache  sachems,  those  allies  of  Red 
Cedar,  on  whom  he  had  sworn  to  take 
an  exemplary  revenge. 

"We  are  brothers,"  Black  Cat  said, 
gravely.  "  Henceforth,  by  day  or  night, 
wherever  the  great  pale  hunter  may 
direct  his  footsteps,  a  friend  will  con 
stantly  watch  over  him." 

"  We  are  brothers,"  the  hunter  re 
plied  ;  "  Black  Cat  will  ever  find  me 
ready  to  come  to  his  assistance." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  the  warrior.  "  Fare 
well  ;  I  will  return  to  the  warriors  of 
my  tribe." 

"  Farewell,"  Valentine  said. 

And  vigorously  lashing  his  horse,  the 
Apache  Chief  started  at  full  speed,  and 
suon  disappeared  in  the  darkness. 

Valentine  listened  for  a  moment  to 
the  echo  of  his  horse's  hoofs  on  the 
hardened  ground,  and  then  returned 
thoughtfully  to  the  calli,  in  which  Ellen 
was  nursing  White  Gazelle. 


110 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 
TWO   WOMEN'S   HEARTS. 

ELLEN  felt  moved  with  pity  at  the 
gight  of  this  young  and  lovely  woman, 
who  lay  on  the  floor  of  the  hut,  and 
whom  life  seemed  to  have  quitted  for 
ever.  She  felt  for  her,  although  she 
never  remembered  to  have  seen  her  be 
fore,  a  sympathy  for  which  she  could 
not  account,  and  which  instinctively  at 
tracted  her. 

Who  was  this  woman?  How  had 
tshe,  still  so  young,  become  mixed  up  in 
these  scenes  of  murder  and  associated 
with  these  savage  prairie  men,  to  whom 
every  human  being  is  an  enemy,  every 
valuable  article  a  booty?  Whence 
arose  this  strange  ascendancy  which  she 
exerted  over  outlaws,  whom  she  made 
cry  like  children  ? 

All  these  thoughts  crossed  Ellen's 
mind,  and  heightened,  were  that  pos 
sible,  the  interest  she  felt  in  the  stran 
ger.  And  yet,  in  her  heart,  a  vague 
fear — an  undefinable  presentiment — 
warned  her  to  be  on  her  guard,  and  that 
this  woman,  gifted  with  a  strange  cha 
racter  and  fatal  beauty,  was  an  enemy, 
who  would  destroy  her  happiness  for 
ever. 

As  Ellen  was  one  of  those  rare  wo 
men  for  whom  evil  sentiments  did  not 
exist,  and  who  made  it  a  principle  to 
obey,  under  all  circumstances,  the  im 
pulse' of  her  heart,  without  reflecting  on 
the  consequences  that  might  result  from 
it,  she  silenced  the  feeling  of  revolt 
within  her,  and  bent  over  White  Ga 
zelle. 

And  with  that  exquisite  tact,  innate 
in  the  female  heart,  she  sat  down  by  the 
aide  of  the  sufferer,  laid  her  beautiful 
head  on  her  knees,  loosened  her  vest, 
and  gave  her  that  busy  attention  of 
which  the  other  sex  alone  possess  the 
secret. 

The  two  maidens,  thus  grouped  on  the 
uneven  floor  of  a  wretched  Indian  hut, 
offered  an  exquisite  picture. 

Both  deliciously  lovely,  though  of 
different  beauty — for  Ellen  had  the 
most  lovely  golden  locks  ever  seen, 
while  the  Gazelle,  on  the  contrary,  had 
the  warm  tint  of  the  Spanish  woman, 


and  hair  of  a  bluish  black — presented 
the  complete  type,  in  two  different 
races,  of  the  beau-ideal  of  woman,  that 
misunderstood  and  incomprehensible 
being,  the  fallen  angel  in  whose  heart 
God  seems  to  have  let  fall  a  glorious 
beam  of  His  divinity,  and  who  retains  a 
vague  reminiscence  of  that  Eden  which 
she  made  us  lose. 

The  American  woman,  that  perfect 
whole,  a  composition  of  graces,  volcanic 
and  raging  passions,  angel  and  demon, 
who  loves  and  hates  simultaneously,  and 
who  makes  the  man  she  prefers  feel  in 
the  same  second  the  joys  of  paradise  and 
the  nameless  tortures  of  the  Inferno ! 
Who  could  even  analyze  this  impossible 
nature,  in  which  virtue  and  vices, 
strangely  amalgamated,  seem  to  per 
sonify  the  terrible  convulsions  of  the 
soil  on  which  she  lives,  and  which  ha* 
created  her? 

For  a  long  time,  Ellen's  cares  were 
thrown  away.  White  Gazelle  remained 
pale  and  cold  in  her  arms. 

The  maiden  began  to  grow  alarmed. 

She  knew  not  to  what  she  should 
have  recourse,  when  the  stranger  made 
a  slight  movement,  and  a  faint  ruddi 
ness  tinged  her  cheeks.  She  uttered  a 
profound  sigh,  and  her  eyelids  painfully 
rose.  She  looked  round  her  in  amaze 
ment,  and  then  closed  her  eyes  again. 

After  a  moment,  she  opened  them 
once  more,  raised  her  hand  to  her  brow 
as  if  to  dissipate  the  clouds  that  obscured 
her  mind,  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  persou 
who  was  attending  to  her,  and  then,, 
with  a  frown  and  quivering  lips,  she'. 
tore  herself  from  the  arms  that  entwined  j 
her,  and,  bounding  like  a  panther,  sought 
shelter  in  one  of  the  corners  of  the  hut, 
without  ceasing  to  gaze  fixedly  at  the 
young  American,  who  was  startled  at 
this  strange  conduct,  and  could  not  un 
derstand  it. 

The  two  girls  remained  thus  for  a  few 
seconds,  face  to  face,  devouring  each 
other  with  their  eyes,  but  not  exchang 
ing  a  syllable. 

No  other  sound  could  be  heard  in  the 
hut,  save  the  panting  respiration  of  the 
two  females. 

"  Why  do  you  shun  me?"  Ellen  at 
length  asked  in  her  harmonious  voice, 
soft  as  the  cooing  of  a  dove.  "  JDo  1 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE   PRAIRIES. 


131 


frighten  you  ?"  she  added,  with  a  smile. 

The  Spaniard  listened  to  her  as  if  she 
did  not  catch  her  meaning,  and  shook 
her  head  so  passionately  that  she  broke 
the  ribbon  confining  her  hair,  which  fell 
in  thick  ringlets  over  her  white  shoul 
ders,  and  veiled  them. 

"  Who  are  you  1"  she  asked,  impetu 
ously,  with  an  accent  of  menace  and 
anger. 

"Who  am  I?"  Ellen  replied,  in  a 
firm  voice,  in  which  a  slight  tinge  of  re 
proach  was  perceptible.  "  I  am  the 
woman  who  has  just  saved  your  life." 

"And  who  told  you  I  wished  it  to  be 
saved  ?" 

"  In  doing  so,  I  only  consulted  my 
own  heart." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  understand,"  the  Gazelle 
said,  ironically.  "  You  are  one  of  those 
women  called  in  your  country  Quaker 
esses,  who  spend  their  life  in  preach 
ing." 

"  I  am  nothing  of  the  sort,"  Ellen 
said,  softly.  "  I  am  a  woman  who  suf 
fers  like  yourself,  and  whom  your  mis 
fortunes  affect." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  the  Spaniard  shrieked,  as 
she  writhed  her  hands  despairingly,  and 
burst  into  tears,  "  1  suffer  all  the  tor 
ments  of  hell."  ' 

Ellen  regarded  her  for  a  moment  with 
compassion,  and  walked  towards  her. 

"  Do  not  cry,  poor  girl !"  she  said  to 
her,  mistaking  the  cause  that  made  her 
shed  tears.  "  You  are  in  safety  here. 
No  one  will  do  you  any  harm." 

The  Spaniard  threw  up  her  head 
haughtily. 

"Nay  !"  she  said,  impetuously.  " Do 
you  fancy,  then,  that  I  am  not  in  a  con 
dition  to  defend  myself,  were  I  insulted  1 
What  need  have  I  of  your  protection  ?" 

And,  roughly  seizing  Ellen's  arm,  she 
shook  her  passionately  as  she  said. : 

"  WTho  are  you  ?  What  are  you  do 
ing  here  ?  Answer !" 

"You,  who  were  with  the  bandits 
when  they  attacked  this  village,  should 
know  me,"  Ellen  replied,  drily. 

"Yes,  I  know  you,"  the  Spaniard 
said  presently,  in  a  hoarse  voice.  "  You 
are  the  woman  whom  the  genius  of  evil 
brought  across  my  path  to  rob  me  of  i 
all  my  happiness  !  I  did  not  expect  to 
find  you  here,  but  I  am  delighted  at  do 


ing  so,  for  I  can  at  length  tell  you  how 
I  hate  you,"  she  added,  stamping  her 
foot  passionately.  "  Yes,  I  hate  you  !" 

Ellen,  in  her  heart,  was  alarmed  at 
the  stranger's  violence;  she  tried  in 
vain  to  explain  her  incomprehensible 
words. 

"  You  hate  me!"  she  replied,  softly. 
"  For  what  reason  ?  I  do  not  know  you. 
This  is  the  first  time  that  accident  has 
brought  us  together.  Up  to  this  day, 
we  never  had  any  relations  together, 
near  or  remote." 

"  Do  you  think  so  1"  the  Spaniard 
continued,  with  a  cutting  smile.  "  In 
truth,"  she  added,  "  we  never  had  any 
relations  together.  You  are  right,  and 
yet  I  know  you  thoroughly.  Miss  El 
len,  daughter  of  the  squatter,  the  scalp- 
hunter,  the  bandit,  in  a  word,  Red 
Cedar,  and  who  dares  to  love  Don  Pab 
lo  de  Zarate,  as  if  you  did  not  belong  to 
an  accursed  race.  Have  I  forgotten 
aught — are  those  all  your  titles?  An 
swer,  will  you  ?"  she  said,  thrusting  her 
face,  inflamed  with  passion,  close  to 
Ellen's,  and  shaking  her  violently  by 
the  arm. 

"  I  am,  indeed,  Red  Cedar's  daughter," 
Ellen  answered,  coldly  ;  "  but  I  do  not 
understand  what  you  mean  by  your  al 
lusion  to  Don  Pablo  de  Zarate." 

"  Do  you  not,  innocent  lamb  1"  the 
Spaniard  retorted  with  irony. 

"  And  supposing  it  were  so,"  the 
American  answered  with  some  haughti 
ness,  "  what  does  it  concern  you  ?  By 
what  right  do  you  cross-question  me  ?" 

"  By  what  right  ?"  the  Spaniard  said, 
violently,  but  suddenly  checked  herself, 
and,  biting  her  lips  till  the  blood  came, 
she  folded  her  hands  on  her  breast,  and, 
surveying  Ellen  with  a  glance  full  of  the 
utmost  contempt,  she  continued  : 

"  In  truth,  you  are  an  angel  of  purity 
and  gentleness;  your  life  has  passed 
calmly  and  softly  at  the  hearth  of  honest 
and  respectable  parents,  who  inculcated 
in  you  at  an  early  age  all  the  virtues 
they  practice  so  well — ah,  ah !  is  not 
that  what  you  meant  to  say  to  me? — 
while  I,  who  am  an  associate  of  brigands, 
who  have  spent  my  whole  life  on  the 
prairie,  who  understand  nothing  of  the 
narrow  exigencies  of  your  paltry  civili 
zation,  who  have  always  breathed  the 


112 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


sharp  and  savage  air  of  liberty — by 
what  right  should  I  come  to  interfere  in 
your  family  arrangements,  and  interfere 
in  your  chaste  loves,  whose  sentimental 
and  insipid  incidents  are  so  well  regu 
lated  by  feet  and  inches?  You  are 
right,  1  cannot,  with  my  savage  man 
ner,  and  burning  heart,  cross  your  love, 
and  destroy  for  a  caprice  all  your  com 
binations — I  am,  indeed,  mad,"  she 
added,  as  she  rudely  repulsed  the 
maiden. 

She  folded  her  arms  on  her  chest,  and 
leant  against  the  wall  of  the  hut  in  si 
lence. 

Ellen  looked  at  her  for  awhile,  and 
then  said,  in  a  soft  and  conciliating 
voice : 

"  I  try  in  vain  to  understand  your  al 
lusions,  but  if  they  refer  to  any  fact  ef 
faced  from  my  mind,  if,  under  any  cir 
cumstance,  J  may  have  unconsciously 
offended  you,  I  am  ready  to  offer  you 
all  the  apologies  you  may  require.  Our 
position  among  these  ferocious  Indians 
is  too  critical  for  me  not  to  try,  by  all 
means  in  my  power,  to  draw  more 
closely  together  the  bonds  of  friendship 
between  ourselves,  the  only  representa 
lives  of  the  white  race  here,  which 
alone  can  enable  us  to  escape  the  snares 
laid  for  us,  and  resist'  the  attacks  that 
threaten  us." 

The  Spaniard's  face  had  gradually 
lost  the  hateful  and  wicked  expression 
that  disfigured  it,  and  her  features  had 
become  calmer.  Now  that  she  had  re 
flected,  she  repented  the  imprudent 
words  she  had  uttered  on  the  first  out 
burst  of  passion.  She  would  have 
liked  to  recal  her  secret;  still  she 
hoped  that  it  was  not  too  late  to  do  so  ; 
and  with  that  craft  innate  in  woman, 
and  which  renders  her  so  dangerous  un 
der  certain  circumstances,  she  resolved 
to  deceive  her  companion,  and  efface 
from  her  mind  the  bad  impression 
•which  her  foolish  words  must  have  left 
there. 

Hence  it  was  with  a  smile,  and  in  her 
softest  voice,  that  she  answered  the 
American : 

"  You  are  good-hearted  ;  I  am  not 
worthy  of  the  attention  you  have  paid 
me,  or  of  the  gentle  words  you  ad 
dress  to  me,  after  what  I  dared  to 


say  to  you.  But  I  am  more  unfor 
tunate  than  wicked.  Abandoned  when 
a  child,  and  adopted  by  the  bandits 
with  whom  you  saw  me,  the  first 
sounds  that  struck  my  ear  were  cries 
of  death,  the  first  light  I  saw  was  the 
glare  of  incendiary  fires.  My  life  has 
been  past  in  the  desert,  far  from  the 
towns,  where  people  learn  to  grovr 
better.  I  am  an  impetuous  and  ob 
stinate  girl ;  but,  believe  me,  my  heart 
is  good  ;  I  can  appreciate  a  kindness, 
and  remember  it.  Alas  !  a  girl  in  my 
position  is  more  to  be  pitied  than 
blamed." 

"  Poor  child  !"  Ellen  said,  with  in 
voluntary  emotion,  "  so  young,  and 
already  so  unhappy." 

"  Oh,  yes,  most  unhappy,"  the  Span 
iard  went  on;  "1  never  knew  the 
sweetness  of  a  mother's  caresses,  and 
the  only  family  I  have  had  is  com 
posed  of  the  brigands,  who  accom 
panied  the  Apaches  when  they  attack 
ed  you." 

The  girls  remained  seated  side  by 
side,  with  their  arms  intertwined  and 
head  on  each  other's  shoulder,  like 
two  timid  doves. 

They  talked  for  a  long  time,  de 
scribing  their  past  life. 

Ellen,  with  the  candor  and  frank 
ness  that  formed  the  basis  of  her 
character,  allowed  her  companion  to 
draw  from  her  all  her  secrets,  harm 
less  as  they  were,  not  perceiving 
that  the  dangerous  woman  who  held 
her  beneath  the  charm  of  her  blan 
dishments,  continually  excited  her  to 
confidence,  while  herself  maintaining 
the  utmost  reserve. 

The  hours  passed  thus  rapidly, 
nearly  the  whole  night  slipped  away  in 
their  confessions,  which  did  not  termi 
nate  till  sleep,  which  never  surrenders 
its  sway  over  young  and  animated 
people,  closed  the  drooping  eyelids  of 
the  American  girl. 

The  Spaniard  did  not  sleep ;  when 
the  other  maiden's  head  fell  on  her 
chest  she  raised  it  cautiously,  and  laid 
it  delicately  on  the  skins  and  furs  ar 
ranged  to  act  as  a  bed;  then,  by  the 
flickering  and  uncertain  light  of  the- 
pine-wood  torch  fixed  in  the  ground, 
which  lit  up  the  hut,  she  gazed  long 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


113 


and  attentively  on  the  squatter's  daugh 
ter. 

Her  face  had  lost  its  placid  mask 
and  assumed  an  expression  of  hatred 
of  which  such  lovely  features  would 
have  been  thought  incapable ;  with 
frowning  brow,  clenched  teeth,  and 
pallid  cheeks,  as  she  stood  before 
the  maiden,  she  might  have  been  taken 
for  the  genius  of  evil,  preparing  to 
seize  the  victim  which  it  holds  fascinat 
ed  and  gasping  beneath  its  deadly 
glance. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  in  a  hollow  voice, 
"  this  woman  is  lovely ;  she  has  all 
needed  to  be  beloved  by  a  man.  She 
told  me  the  truth — he  loves  her !  and 
I,"  she  added,  with  a  movement  of 
rage,  "why  does  he  not  love  me? 
I  am  lovely  too — more  lovely  than 
this  one,  perhaps.  How  is  it  that  he 
has  been  at  least  twenty  times  in  my 
presence,  and  his  heart  has  never 
been  warmed  by  the  fire  that  flashed 
from  my  eyes?  Whence  comes  it 
that  he  has  never  noticed  me,  that  all 
my  advances  to  make  him  love  me 
have  remained  futile,  and  that  he  has 
never  thought  of  any  one  but  the  wo 
man  lying  asleep  there,  who  is  in  my 
power,  and  whom  1  could  kill  if  I 
pleased  ?" 

While  uttering  these  words  she  had 
drawn  from  her  girdle  a  small  stiletto, 
with  a  blade  sharp  as  the  tongue  of  a 
cascabel. 

"  No  !"  she  added,  after  a  moment's 
reflection,  "  no,  it  is  not  thus  that  she 
must  die  !  she  would  not  suffer  enough. 
Oh,  no  !  I  mean  her  to  endure  all  the 
sufferings  that  are  lacerating  me.  Jeal 
ousy  shall  torture  her  heart  as  it  has 
done  mine  for  so  long.  Voto  a  Dios! 
\  will  avenge  myself  as  a  Spanish  wo 
man  should  do.  If  he  despise  me,  if 
he  will  not  love  me,  neither  of  us  shall 
have  him ;  we  sha-ll  both  suffer,  and 
her  torture  will  alleviate  mine.  Oh  ! 
oh  !"  she  said,  with  a  smile,  as  she 
walked  round  the  sleeping  girl  with  the 
muffled  tread  of  a  wild  beast;  "fair- 
haired  girl,  with  lily  complexion,  your 
cheeks  covered  with  the  velvety  down 
of  a  peach,  will  ere  long  be  as  pale  as 
mine,  and  your  eyes,  red  with  fever, 


will   no   longer   find    tears    to    soothe 
them." 

She  bent  over  Ellen,  attentively  lis 
tened  to  her  regular  breathing,  and  cer 
tain  that  she  was  plunged  in  a  deep 
sleep,  she  walked  toward  the  curtain 
door  of  the  hut,  raised  it  cautiously, 
and  after  looking  around  her  in  the  ob 
scurity,  feeling  assured  by  the  c  ilmness 
that  surrounded  her,  she  stepped  over  the 
body  of  Curumilla,  who  was  lying  across 
the  door,  and  started  off  hurriedly,  but 
with  such  light  steps  that  the  most 
practised  ear  could  not  have  noticed  the 
sound. 

The  Indian  warrior  had  taken  on 
himself  the  duty  of  watching  over  the 
two  women.  When  the  scalp-dance 
was  ended  he  returned  to  instal  himself 
at  the  spot  he  had  selected,  and,  in 
spite  of  the  remarks  of  Valentine  and 
Don  Pablo,  who  assured  him  that  they 
were  in  safety,  and  it  was  unnecessary 
for  him  to  remain  there,  nothing  could 
make  him  give  up  his  resolution. 

Phlegrnatically  shaking  his  head  at  his 
friend's  remarks,  he  took  off  his  buffalo 
robe  without  any  further  response ;  he 
stretched  it  on  the  ground,  and  Jay  down 
on  it,  wishing  them  good-night  with  a 
brief  but  peremptory  nod.  The  others, 
seeing  the  Araucano's  immovaable  re 
solve,  philosophically  went  away,  shak 
ing  their  heads. 

Curumilla  was  not  asleep-not  one  of 
the  Spanish  girl's  movements  escaped 
him;  and  she  had  scarce  gone  ten  yards 
when  he  was  already  on  her  trail,  watch 
ing  her  carefully.  Why  he  did  so  he 
was  himself  ignorant;  but  a  secret  fore 
boding  warned  him  to  follow  tiie  stran 
ger,  and  try  to  learn  for  what  reason, 
instead  of  sleeping,  she  traversed  at  so 
late  an  hour  the  camp  in  which  she  was 
a  prisoner,  and  where  she  consequently 
exposed  herself  to  come  in  contact  at 
each  step  with  a  ferocious  enemy,  who 
would  have  killed  her  with  delight. 

The  reason  that  made  her  br;tve  so 
imminent  a  danger  must  be  very  pow 
erful,  and  that  reason  the  Indian  chief 
determined  on  knowing. 

The  girl  had  difficulty  in  finding  her 
way  through  this  inextricable  labyrinth 
of  huts  and  tents,  against  which  she 


114 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


stumbled  at  every  step.  The  night  was 
dark  ;  the  moon,  veiled  under  a  dense 
mass  of  clouds,  only  displayed  its  sick 
ly  disc  at  lengthened  intervals;  not  a 
star  gleamed  in  the  sky. 

At  times  the  girl  halted  on  her  jour 
ney,  stretching  forth  her  hand  to  listen 
to  any  suspicious  sound,  or  else  return 
ed  hurriedly  on  her  footsteps,  turning  in 
the  same  circle,  while  careful  not  to  go 
far  from  Ellen's  hut. 

ft  was  evident  to  Curumilla  that  the 
prisoner  was  seeking,  though  unable  to 
find,  a  tent  that  contained  the  person  she 
wished  to  speak  with.  At  length,  des 
pairing  probably  of  ever  succeeding  in 
this  search  of  which  she  did  not  hold 
the  thread,  the  girl  stopped  and  imita 
ted  twice  the  snapping  bark  of  the  white 
coyote  of  the  Far  West.  This  signal, 
for  it  was  evidently  one,  succeeded  bet 
ter  than  she  expected,  for  two  similar 
barks,  uttered  at  points  diametrically 
opposed,  answered  her  almost  immedi 
ately.  The  girl  hesitated  for  a  second  ; 
a  dark  flush  passed  over  her  face,  but 
recovering  at  once,  she  repeated  the  sig 
nal. 

Two  men  appeared  simultaneously  at 
her  side — one,  who  seemed  to  rise  out  of 
the  ground,  was  Red  Cedar,  the  second, 
Pedro  Sandoval. 

"Heaven  be  praised  !"  the  Spaniard 
said,  as  he  pressed  the  girl's  hand,  "you 
are  saved,  Nina,  and  1  fear  nothing  more 
now.  .Canario  !  you  may  flatter  your 
self  with  having  caused  me  a  terrible 
fright." 

"Here  I  am,"  said  Red  Cedar  ;  "  can 
I  be  of  any  service  to  you  ?  We  are 
ambushed  a  few  steps  from  hei'e,  with 
two  hundred  Apaches  ;  speak,  what  is 
to  be  done?" 

"Nothing  at  present,"  the  Gazelle 
said,  as  she  returned  the  pressure  of  her 
two  friends'  hands.  "  After  our  ill  suc 
cess  of  this  evening,  any  attempt  would 
be  premature,  and  fail.  At  daybreak, 
from  what  I  have  heard,  the  Comanches 
will  set  out  to  take  up  your  trail.  Do 
not  let  their  war-party  out  of  sight.  It 
is  possible  that  I  may  require  your  help 
on  the  way  ;  but  till  then  do  not  show 
yourself;  act  with  the  greatest  prudence, 
and  before  all  try  to  keep  your  enemies 
in  ignorance  of  your  movements." 


"  You  have  no  other  recommendations 
to  give  me  ?" 

"None;  so  retire  ;  the  Indians  will 
soon  wake  up,  and  it  would  not  be  well 
for  you  if  they  surprised  you." 

"  1  obey." 

"  Above  all,  do  what  I  told  you." 

"  That  is  agreed,  "  Red  Cedar  repeat- 
ed. 

He  glided  into  the  gloom  and  disap 
peared  among  the  tents.  Curumilla 
was  inclined  to  follow  him  and  kill  him 
as  he  fled  ;  but  after  a  short  hesitation 
he  allowed  him  to  escape. 

"  It  is  now  your  turn,"  the  Gazelle 
continued,  addressing  Sandoval  ;  "  I 
have  a  service  to  ask  of  you." 

"  A  service,  Nina;  say  rather  an  order 
to  give  me  ;  do  you  not  know  that  1  am 
happy  to  please  you  in  everything  ?" 

"  1  am  aware  of  it,  and  feel  grateful 
to  you,  Pedro ;  but  this  time  what  I 
have  to  ask  of  you  is  so  important  and 
so  serious,  that,  in  spite  of  myself,  1  hesi 
tate  to  tell  you  what  1  expect  from  you." 

"  Speak  without  fear,  my  child,  and 
whatever  it  may  be,  1  swear  to  you  to 
do  it." 

"  Even  if  the  life  of  a  per^bn  were  at 
stake  T'  she  said,  with  a  bright  and 
fixed  glance,  resembling  that,  of  a  wild 
beast. 

"  All  the  worse  for  him :  I  would 
kill  him." 

"  Without  hesitation  ?" 

"  Yes.  Has  any  one  insulted  you, 
my  child  ?  if  so,  point  him  out  to  me, 
that  you  may  be  the  sooner  avenged." 

"  What  1  would  ask  of  you  is  worse 
than  killing  a  man." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you." 

"  I  wish — you  understand  me  clearly, 
my  dear  Pedro1? — J  wish  that  on  the 
road  we  should  escape " 

"  If  it  is  only  that,  it  is  easy." 

"  Perhaps  so  !  but  that  is  not  all." 

"  I  am  listening." 

"  When  we  escape,  you  must  carry 
off  and  take  with  us  the  girl  to  'whom 
you  entrusted  me  last  evening." 

"  What  the  deuce  would  you  do  with 
her?"  the  Pirate  exclaimed,  astonished 
at  this  singular  proposition,  which  he 
was  far  from  expecting.  < 

"  That  is  my  business,"  the  Gazelle 
answered  rudely. 


THE    PIRATES    OP    THE    PRAIRIES. 


115 


"  Of  course,  still  it  seems   to  me  —  ' 

"  After  all,  why  should  I  not  tell  you1? 

There  is,  I  think,  in  a  country  a  long 

distance  from  here,  a  savage  and  fero 

cious  race  called  the  Sioux  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  they  are  precious  scoun 


drels    I  can  assure 


Senorita     but 


,  you, 

I  do  not  see  what  connection  there  is  —  ' 

"  You  shall  see,"  she  sharply  inter 
rupted  him.  "  I  wish  that  the  girl  you 
carry  off  to-morrow  shall  be  handed  over 
as  a  slave  to  the  Sioux." 

This  proposition  was  so  monstrous, 
that  Pedro  Sandoval  could  not  refrain 
from  a  glance  of  stupefaction  at  the 
young  Spaniard. 

"  You  have  heard  me,"  she  continued. 

"  Yes,  but  I  should  prefer  killing  her  : 
it  would  be  sooner  done,  and  the  poor 
girl  would  suffer  less." 

"  Ah,  you  pity  her!"  she  said  with  a 
demoniac  smile  ;  "  the  fate  I  reserve  for 
her,  then  is  very  atrocious1?  Well,  that 
is  exactly  what  I  want;  she  must  live 
and  suffer  for  a  long  time." 

"  This  woman  must  have  terribly  in 
sulted  you?" 

"  More  than  I  can  tell  you." 

"  Reflect  on  the  horrible  punishment 
to  which  you  condemn  her." 

"  All  my  reflections  are  made,"  the 
girl  replied  in  a  sharp  voice  ;  "  1  insist 
on  it." 

The  Pirate  hung  his  head  silently. 

"  Will  you  obey  me?"  she  asked. 

"  1  must,  for  am  I  not  your  slave  T' 

She  smiled  proudly. 

"  Take  care,  Nina  !  I  know  not  what 
has  happened  between  this  girl  and 
yourself,  but  I  am  conscious  that  ven 
geance  often  produces  very  bitter  fruits. 
Perhaps  you  will  repent  hereafter  what 


you  do  to-day  ?" 
"  What  matter] 


I  shall  be  avenged. 


That  thought  will  render  me  strong,  and 
give  me  the  courage  to  suffer." 

"  Then,  you  are  quite  resolved  ?" 

"Irrevocably." 

"1  will  obey." 

"  Thank-*,  my  kind  father,"  she  said, 
eagerly  ;  "thanks  for  your  devotion." 

"  Do  not  thank  me,"  the  Pirate  said, 
sadly  ;  "  perhaps  you  will  curse  me 
some  day." 

"Oh,  never!" 

"  May  Heaven  grant  it !" 


With  these  words,  the  accomplices 
separated. 

Pedro  re-entered  the  tent  allotted  to 
him,  while  the  Gazelle  rejoined  Ellen, 
who  was  still  sleeping  her  untroubled 
sleep,  smiling  at  the  pleasant  dreams 
that  lulled  her. 

Curumilla  lay  down  again  at  the  en 
trance  of  the  lodge. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 


SHAW. 


WE  have  said  that  Dona  Clara  had 
disappeared. 

At  the  moment  when  the  struggle 
was  most  obstinate,  Valentine,  taking 
Dona  Clara  in  his  arms,  leaped  from  the 
top  of  the  lodge  on  which  he  had  hither 
to  been  fighting,  intrusted  the  maiden 
to  Shaw,  and  rushed  back  into  the  fight 
at  the  head  of  the  Comanches,  who,  re 
covering  from  the  terror  caused  by  the 
unforeseen  attack  of  their  implacable 
foes  the  Apaches,  gradually  assembled 
to  the  powerful  war-cry  of  their  chief, 
Pethonista. 

"  Watch  over  her,"  Valentine  said  to 
Red  Cedar's  son ;  "  watch  over  her, 
and,  whatever  may  happen,  save  her." 

Shaw  took  the  maiden  in  his  power 
ful  arms,  threw  her  over  his  shoulder, 
and  with  flashing  eye  and  quivering  lip, 
tie  brandished  his  axe,  that  fearful  squai- 
ter's  instrument  he  never  laid  aside,  aixi 
rushed  head-foremost  among  the  Apa 
ches,  resolved  to  die  or  break  the  human 
barrier  that  rose  menacingly  before 
aim. 

Like  a  boar  at  bay,  he  dashed  madly 
forward,  felling  and  trampling  merci 
lessly  on  all  who  attempted  to  bar  his 
progress. 

A  living  catapult,  he  advanced  step 
by  step  over  a  pile  of  corpses,  inces 
santly  dropping  his  axe,  which  he  raised 
.gain  dripping  with  blood. 

He  had  only  one  thought  left — to 
save  Dona  Clara  or  die  ! 

In  vain  did  the  Apaches  collect  around 

aim  ;  like  an  implacable  rea.per,  he  cut 

them  down  as  ripe  corn,  while  laughing 

hat  dry  and  hoarse  grin,  a  nervous  ooit- 


116 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


traction  which  affects  a  man  who  has 
reached  the  last  stage  of  rage  or  mad 
ness. 

In  fact,  at  this  moment,  Shaw  was  no 
longer  a  man,  but  a  demon.  Tramp 
ling  over  the  quivering  bodies  tuat  fell 
beneath  the  terrible  blows  of  his  axe, 
feeling  the  body  of  her  for  whose  safety 
he  fought  trembling  on  his  shoulder,  he 
struggled  without  stopping  in  his  im 
possible  task,  but  resolved  to  cut  a  hole, 
at  all  risks,  through  the  human  wall 
constantly  arising  before  him. 

Shaw  was  a  man  of  tried  courage,  long 
habituated  to  fighting,  and  pitiless  to 
the  red-skins.  But  alone,  on  this  night, 
only  illumined  by  the  blood-red  hue  of 
the  fire,  and  confined  in  a  fatal  circle,  he 
felt  a  great  fear  involuntarily  coming 
over  him  ;  he  breathed  with  difficulty, 
his  teeth  were  clenched,  an  icy  perspi 
ration  ran  down  his  body,  and  he  felt 
on  the  point  of  succumbing. 

Falling  would  have  been  death.  He 
would  have  immediately  disappeared 
under  the  avalanche  of  ferocious  Indians 
yelling  around  him. 

This  discouragement  did  not  last  so 
long  as  a  lightning  flash. 

The  young  man,  sustained  by  that 
hope  which  springs  eternal  in  the  human 
breast,  as  well  as  by  his  love  for  Dona 
Clara,  prepared  to  continue  the  unequal 
contest. 

Bounding  like  a  jaguar,  he  hurled 
himself  into  the  thick  of  the  fight.  This 
contest  of  a  single  man  against  a  swarm 
of  enemies  had  something  grand  and 
startling  about  it. 

Shaw,  as  if  under  the  influence  of  a 
horrible  nightmare,  struggled  in  vain 
against  the  incessantly  renewed  cloud 
of  foemen ;  in  him  every  feeling  of  self 
had  vanished,  he  no  longer  reflected,  his 
life  had  become  entirely  physical,  his 
movements  were  automatic,  his  arms 
rose  and  fell  with  the  rigid  regularity 
of  a  pendulum. 

He  had  managed,  without  knowing 
how,  to  clear  the  fortifications  of  the 
village ;  at  a  few  paces  from  him  the 
Gila  flowed  silently  on,  and  appeared  to 
him  in  the  moonlight  like  an  immense 
silver  ribbon.  Could  he  reach  the 
river,  he  was  saved;  but  there  is  a 
limit  which  human  strength,  however 


great  it  may  be,  cannot  go  beyond,  and 
tShaw  felt  that  he  was  reaching  this 
limit. 

He  took  an  anxious  glance  around ; 
Apaches  hemmed  him  in  on  all  sides ! 

He  uttered  a  sigh,  for  he  thought  that 
he  was  about  to  die. 

At  this  solemn  moment,  when  all  was 
about  to  fail  him,  a  final  shriek  burst 
from  his  chest.  A  cry  of  agony  and 
despair,  of  terrifying  meaning,  and  re 
echoed  for  a  second  far  and  wide,  so 
that  it  drowned  all  the  battle  sounds; 
it  was  the  parting  protest  of  a  man  who 
at  length  confesses  himself  conquered  by 
fatality,  and  who,  before  succumbing, 
summons  his  fellow  men  to  his  aid,  or 
implores  the  succor  of  Heaven. 

A  cry  answered  his  ! 

Shaw,  astonished,  unable  to  count  on 
a  miracle,  as  his  friends  were  too  far  off 
and  themselves  too  busy  to  help  him, 
fancied  himself  the  victim  of  a  dream  or 
hallucination;  still,  collecting  all  his 
strength,  feeling  hope  well  up  again  in 
his  heart,  he  gave  vent  to  a  more  start 
ling  shout  than  the  former. 

"  Courage !" 

This  time,  it  was  not  echo  that  an 
swered  him. 

Courage ! 

This  word  alone  was  borne  on  the 
wings  of  the  wind,  weak  as  a  sigh,  and, 
in  spite  of  the  horrible  yells  of  the  Apa 
ches,  was  distinctly  heard  by  Shaw. 

In  moments  of  frenzy,  or  when  a  man 
is  at  bay,  the  senses  acquire  a  perfec 
tion  for  which  it  is  impossible  otherwise 
to  account. 

Like  the  giant  Antaeus,  Shaw  drew 
himself  up,  and  seemed  restored  to  that 
life  which  was  on  the  point  of  leaving 
him.  He  redoubled  his  blows  on  his 
innumerable  enemies,  and  at  length  suc 
ceeded  in  breaking  through  the  barrier 
they  opposed  to  him. 

Several  horsemen  appeared  galloping 
over  the  plain;  shots  illumined  the 
darkness  with  their  transient  flash,  and 
men,  or  rather  demons,  rushed  suddenly 
en  the  throng  of  the  Apaches,  and  com 
menced  a  frightful  carnage. 

The  red-skins,  surprised  by  their  un 
expected  attack,  rushed  toward  the  vil 
lage,  uttering  yells  of  terror :  their 
prey  had  escaped  them. 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


117 


Shaw  had  fought  bravely  and  firm  as 
a  rock  up  to  the  last  moment ;  but 
when  his  enemies  disappeared,  he  sank 
to  the  ground  in  a  state  of  unconscious 
ness. 

How  long  did  he  remain  in  this 
state  ?  he  could  not  say  :  but  when  he 
recovered  his  senses  it  was  night.  He 
fancied  at  first,  that  only  a  few  hours 
had  elapsed  since  the  terrible  struggle 
he  had  undergone,  and  he  looked  in 
quiringly  around  him.  He  was  lying 
by  a  fire  in  the  centre  of  a  clearing. 

Dona  Clara  was  a  few  paces  from 
him,  weak  and  pale  as  a  spectre. 

Shaw  uttered   a  cry  of  surprise   and* 
terror  on  recognizing  the  men  who  sur 
rounded   him,  and   who    had    probably 
saved  him  by  answering  his  final  shout. 

They  were  his  two  brothers,  Fray 
Ambrosio,  Andres  Garote,  and  a  dozen 
Gambusinos. 

By  what  strange  accident  had  he  re 
joined  his  comrades  at  the  moment 
when  he  had  so  great  interest  in  shun 
ning  them  1 

What  evil  chance  had  brought  them 
across  fts  path  ? 

The  young  man  let  his  head  sink  on 
his  chest,  and  fell  into  a  sad  and  gloomy 
reverie. 

His  comrades,  lying  like  him  by  the 
fire,  maintained  the  most  obstinate  si 
lence,  and  did  not  seem  at  all  eager  to 
cross  question  him. 

We  will  take  advantage  of  the  mo 
mentary  respite  allowed  Shaw,  to  ex 
plain  what  had  taken  place  on  the  is 
land  since  we  quitted  it  to  follow  Dona 
Clara,  Ellen,  and  the  two  Canadian  hun 
ters. 

Until  sunrise  no  one  perceived  the 
flight  of  the  girls. 

At  breakfast,  Nathan  and  Sutter, 
amazed  at  not  seeing  their  sister  ap 
pear,  ventured  on  entering  the  hut  of 
branches  that  served  as  shelter  to  the 
two  females,  and  then  all  was  explain 
ed.  They  went  in  a  furious  rage  to 
Fray  Ambrosio  to  tell  him  what  had 
happened,  and  the  monk  completed  the 
news  they  gave  him  by  announcing  in 
his  turn  the  flight  of  Eagle-wing,  Dick, 
and  Harry. 

The  fury  of  the  two  brothers  was  un 
bounded,  and  they  proposed  to  raise 


the  camp  at  once,  and  go  in  pursuit  of 
the  fugitives. 

Fray  Ambrosio  and  his  worthy 
friend  Garote  had  infinite  difficulty  in 
making  them  understand  that  this  would 
lead  to  no  result ;  that,  moreover,  they 
had  as  guide  an  Indian  thoroughly  ac 
quainted  with  the  topography  of  the 
country,  and  the  hiding  places,  and  that 
it  would  be  folly  to  suppose  that  the 
persons  who  had  escaped  had  not  so  ar 
ranged  their  flight  as  to  foil  all  attempts 
made  to  seize  them  again. 

Another  and  more  powerful  reason 
obliged  them  to  remain  on  the  island, 
to  which  the  squatter's  sons  were  com 
pelled  to  yield. 

Red  Cedar,  on  going  away,  ordered 
that  under  no  pretext  should  they 
quit  the  post  he  had  selected ;  he  had 
moreover  promised  to  join  his  band 
again  there,  and  if  they  left  it,  it  would 
be  impossible  for  him  to  find  them,  as 
he  would  not  know  in  what  direction 
they  had  gone. 

The  young  men  were  forced  to  allow 
that  Fray  Ambrosio  was  right ;  but,  in 
order  to  satisfy  their  conscience,  they 
placed  themselves  at  the  head  of  a  few 
resolute  men,  crossed  the  river,  and 
beat  up  the  neighborhood.  We  need 
scarcely  say  that  they  found  nothing, 
for  at  about  a  league  from  the  Gila  tha 
traces  were  finally  lost. 

The  young  men  were  in  despair ; 
but  Fray  Ambrosio,  on  the  other  hand, 
was  delighted.  Hs  had  only  one  desire, 
that  of  seeing  the  band  quit  of  Dona 
Clara,  who,  according  to  his  views,  im 
peded  its  progress  and  prevented  it 
marching  with  the  speed  circumstances 
required  ;  and  now,  instead  of  one  wo 
man,  two  had  gone  ! 

The  worthy  monk  could  scarce  con 
tain  himself  for  joy ;  he  listened  with 
a  sympathizing  air  and  expressions  of 
condolence  to  the  advice  and  complaints 
of  his  comrades  at  this  extraordinary 
flight ;  but  in  his  heart  he  was  de 
lighted. 

Still,  as  there  was  no  perfect  happi 
ness  in  this  world,  and  wormwood  must 
always  be  mixed  with  the  honey  oflife, 
an  unexpected  incident  suddenly  trou 
bled  the  beatitude  of  Fray  Ambrosio. 

At  starting,  Red  Cedar,   while  con- 


118 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


oealing  the  object  of  his  journey,  had 
dropped  hints  to  his  comrades  that  he 
would  bring  them  allies  ;  moreover,  he 
informed  them,  that  his  excursion  would 
not  last  more  than  three  or  four  days  at 
the  most. 

In  the  desert,  especially  in  the  Far 
West,  there  is  no  regular  road ;  travel 
lers  are  compelled,  for  the  greater  part 
of  the  time,  to  march  axe  in  hand,  and 
out  a  path  by  force. 

The  gambusinos  knew  this  by  expe 
rience,  and  hence  were  not  surprised, 
because  Red  Cedar  did  not  return  at 
the  period  he  had  fixed. 

They  were  patient,  and  as  their  pro 
visions  were  beginning  to  give  out,  they 
scattered  on  either  side  the  river,  and 
organized  great  hunting  expeditions  to 
renew  their  stock. 

But  days  had  slipped  away,  and  Red 
Cedar  did  not  return  :  a  month  had  al 
ready  passed,  and  no  news  or  sign  ar 
rived  to  tell  the  gambusinos  that  he 
would  come  soon. 

Another  fortnight  also  passed,  and 
produced  no  change  in  the  position  of 
the  gold-seekers. 

By  degrees  the  band  began  to  grow 
discouraged,  and  soon,  without  any  one 
knowing  how,  the  most  sinister  news 
circulated  at  first  in  a  whisper,  but  then 
they  acquired  the  almost  certainty,  that 
the  squatter,  surprised  in  an  ambuscade 
by  the  red-skins,  had  been  massacred, 
and  that,  consequently,  it  was  useless 
waiting  for  him  any  longer. 

These  rumors,  to  which  Fray  Am- 
brosio  attached  but  slight  importance 
at  the  outset,  became  presently  so  strong 
that  he  grew  anxious  .in  his  turn,  and 
tried  to  dissipate  them;  but  this  was 
difficult,  not  to  say  impossible. 

Fray  Ambrosio  knew  no  more  than 
the  rest  about  Red  Cedar's  movements  ; 
his  fears  were,  at  least,  as  great  as 
those  of  his  comrades;  and  whatever 
h«  might  do,  he  was  compelled  to  allow 
that  he  had  no  valid  reason  to  offer 
them,  and  was  completely  ignorant  of 
the  fate  of  their  common  chief. 

One  morning  the  gambusinos,  instead 
of  setting  out  to  hunt  as  they  did  daily, 
assembled  tumultuously  before  the 
jacalt  which  served  as  head-quarters  for 
the  monk  and  the  squatter's  sons,  and 


told  them  plainly  that  they  had  waited 
long  enough  for  Red  Cedar  :  as  he  had 
given  them  no  news  of  his  movements 
for  upwards  of  two  months,  he  must  be 
dead  :  that  consequently  the  expedition 
was  a  failure  ;  and  as  they  had  no  incli 
nation  to  fall,  some  fine  morning,  into 
the  power  of  their  foes,  the  red-skins, 
they  were  going  to  return  at  once  to 
Santa  Fe. 

Fray  Ambrosio  in  vain  told  them 
that,  even  supposing  Red  Cedar  was 
dead — which  was  not  proved — althougn 
it  was  a  misfortune,  it  did  not  cause  the 
expedition  to  fail,  as  he  alone  held  the 
secret  of  the  placer,  aiid  promised  to 
lead  them  to  it. 

The  gambusinos,  who  placed  no  con 
fidence  in  his  talents  as  guide,  or  in  his 
courage  as  a  partizan,  would  not  listen 
to  anything;  and,  whatever  he  might 
do  to  check  them,  they  mounted  their 
horses,  and  rode  off  from  the  island, 
where  he  remained  with  the  squatter's 
sons,  Andres  Garote,  and  five  or  six 
other  men  still  faithful  to  him. 

Fray  Ambrosio  saw  them  land,  and 
spur  their  horses  into  the  talF  grass, 
where  they  speedily  disappeared.  The 
monk  fell  to  the  ground  in  despair;  he 
aw  his  plans  for  a  fortune  irredeemably 
ruined — plans  which  he  had  fostered  so 
long,  and  which  were  crushed  at  th« 
very  moment  when  they  seemed  on  the 
point  of  realization. 

Any  other  man  than  Fray  Ambrosio, 
after  such  a  disaster,  would  have  yielded 
to  despair;  but  he  was  gifted  with  one 
of  those  energetic  natures  which  di(ri- 
3ulties  arouse  instead  of  crushing;  and, 
n  lieu  of  renouncing  his  schemes,  he  iv- 
solved,  as  Red  Cedar  did  not  return,  to 
go  in  search  of  him,  and  leave  the  island 
at  once. 

An  hour  later,  the  little  party  set  out 
on  its  march. 

By  an  extraordinary  coincidence,  they 
set  out  on  the  very  day  when  the  Apa 
ches  started  to  at'ack  the  Coinsmche 
village;  and  as  when  accident  inter 
poses  it  does  not  do  things  by  halves,  it 
ed  them  to  the  vicinity  of  the  village 
at  the  moment  when  the  desperate  COM- 
lest  was  going  on  which  we  have  des 
Bribed  in  a  previous  chapter. 

Their    predacious     instincts    invited 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


119 


them  to  draw  nearer  the  village  under 
the  protection  of  the  darkness,  in  the 
hope  of  obtaining  some  Indian  scalps, 
which  were  very  valuable  to  them.  It 
was  then  that  the  gambusinos  heard 
Shaw's  cry  for  help,  to  which  they  re 
sponded  by  hurrying  up  at  full  speed. 

They  rushed  boldly  into  the  medley, 
and  saved  the  young  man  and  the  pre 
cious  burthen  he  still  held  enclasped  ; 
then,  after  cutting  the  throats  of  several 
Indians,  whom  they  conscientiously 
aoalped,  as  they  considered  it  imprudent 
to  venture  further,  they  started  off  again 
as  quickly  as  they  had  come,  and  reach 
ed  a  forest  where  they  concealed  them 
selves,  intending  to  ask  Shaw,  when  he 
regained  his  senses,  how  he  happened 
to  be  at  the  entrance  of  this  village, 
holding  Dona  Clara  in  his  arms,  and 
fighting  alone  against  a  swarm  of  In 
dians. 

The  young  man  remained  unconscious 
the  whole  day.  Although  the  wounds 
he  had  received  were  not  dangerous,  the 
great  quantity  of  blood  he  had  lost,  and 
the  extraordinary  efforts  he  had  been 
obliged  to  make,  plunged  him  into  such 
a  state  of  prostration,  that  several  hours 
still  elapsed  after  he  had  regained  his 
senses  before  he  seemed  to  have  restor 
ed  sufficient  order  in  his  ideas  to  be 
able  to  gi retail  account  of  the  events 
in  which  he  had  played  so  important  a 
part. 

It  was,  therefore,  Fray  Ambrosio's 
advice  to  grant  time  to  recal  his  thoughts 
before  beginning  to  cross-question  him, 
and  hence  the  affected  indifference  of  the 
gambusinos  toward  him,  an  indifference 
which  he  profited  by,  to  seek  in  his 
mind  the  means  to  part  company  with 
them,  carrying  off  for  the  second  time 
Do^i  Clara,  who  had  so  unhappily  fallen 
into  their  hands  again. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

THE  DEPARTURE. 

ON  the  day  after  the  battle,  at  sun 
rise,  there  was  a  busy  scene  in  the  Co- 
manche  village. 

The  criers  or  hache^tos  mounted  on 
the  piles  of  ruins,  summoned  the  war 
riors,  who  arrived  one  after  the  other, 
still  fatigued  by  the  dances  and  com 
bats  of  the  previous  night.  The  war- 
whistles,  the  shells,  the  drums  and  chi- 
chikouis,  made  an  infernal  disturbance, 
and  hence  the  entire  population  was 
speedily  assembled. 

Unicorn  was  a  chief  of  great  prudence. 
Being  on  the  point  of  undertaking  an 
expedition  which  might  separate  him 
for  a  long  time  from  his  friends,  he  did 
not  wish  to  leave  the  women  and  chil 
dren  exposed  defencelessly  to  an  attack 
like  that  of  the  previous  evening.  As 
the  season  was  advanced,  he  resolved  to 
abandon  the  village  definitively,  and  es 
cort  those  who  were  not  selected  to  ac 
company  him,  to  the  winter  village  of 
the  nation,  situated  at  no  great  distance 
off,  in  a  virgin  forest,  and  in  an  impreg 
nable  position. 

The  appearance  of  the  village  was 
most  picturesque;  the  warriors,  painted 
and  armed  for  war,  formed  two  com 
panies  of  one  hundred  men  each,  col 
lected  on  the  square,  having  on  each 
flank  a  squadron  of  twenty-live  horse 
men.  Between  the  two  detachments 
the  women,  children,  and  old  men 
placed  themselves,  with  the  dogs  fasten 
ed  to  the  sledges,  which  bore  all  their 
valuable  property,  such  as  furniture, 
furs,  etc. 

Unicorn,  surrounded  by  his  staff,, 
composed  of  the  subordinate  chiefs  of 
the  tribe,  held  in  his  hands  the  totem, 
and  gave  his  orders  with  a  word  or  ;i 
gesture,  which  were  immediately  ex 
ecuted  with  an  intelligence  and  dexterity 
that  would  have  done  honor  to  the  most 
civilized  nation. 

Valentine  was  also  on  the  public 
square,  with  his  comrades  and  prison 
ers. 

The  two  maidens,  calm  and  smiling, 
were  side  by  side,  conversing  together, 


120 


THE    PIRATES    OP    THE    PRAIRIES. 


while  Curumilla  was  holding  his  head 
down,  and  frowning. 

Bloodson  had  gone  off  at  daybreak, 
with  his  band,  to  try  and  surprise,  in 
his  turn,  the  Apache  village,  which  was 
no  great  distance  off. 

It  was  a  strange  fact,  but  the  hunters 
and  Mexicans  felt  an  extraordinary 
pleasure  at  the  departure  of  this  man, 
who  had,  however,  rendered  them  an 
immense  service.  Certainly,  it  would 
have  been  impossible  for  them  to  ex 
plain  this  feeling,  which  all  experienced. 
Still,  when  he  was  no  longer  among 
them,  their  chests  expanded,  and  they 
breathed  with  greater  ease  ;  in  a  word, 
it  seemed  as  if  an  immense  weight  had 
been  suddenly  removed. 

And  yet,  we  repeat,  the  hunters  and 
Mexicans  had  only  terms  of  praise  in 
which  to  allude  to  this  man's  treatment 
of  them. 

Whence  came  this  instinctive  repul 
sion  with  which  he  inspired  them? — 
the  truth  was,  that  Bloodson  had  some 
thing  about  him  which  caused  those  to 
whom  accident  brought  into  contact 
with  him  to  feel  disgust  mingled  with 
fear. 

A  great  noise  was  suddenly  heard  in 
the  square,  and  two  or  three  Indians 
carne  up  to  speak  to  the  chief. 

Unicorn  uttered  an  exclamation  of 
anger,  and  feigned  the  greatest  disap 
pointment. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  chief?"  Valen 
tine  asked,  with  trie  most  indifferent  air 
he  could  assume. 

"  Our  most  valuable  Apache  priso 
ner,"  Unicorn  said,  *'  has  found  means 
to  escape,  1  do  not  know  how." 

"  That  is  a  misfortune,"  Valentine 
said  :  "  still,  it  may  not  be  irreparable/' 

"  How  so  ?" 

"  Who  knows?  Perhaps  he  may  have 
escaped  very  recently  ;  if  you  were  to 
send  couriers  in  every  direction,  it  is 
possible  that  he  may  be  recaptured." 

"Besides,  if  that  measure  did  not  pro 
duce  the  anticipated  result,"  he  added,  as 
he  gave  the  young  Spaniard  a  cold  and 
stern  glance,  which  made  her  start,  "  it 
would,  at  any  rate,  tell  us  what  has  be 
come  of  our  Apache  enemies,  and  if 
they  have  not  left  round  the  village  spies 
ordered  to  watch  our  movements." 


The  sachem  smiled  at  this  proposal ; 
he  made  a  sign,  and  a  dozen  horsemen 
galloped  out  in  the  plain.  While  await 
ing  the  return  of  the  scouts,  the  final  pre 
parations  for  departure  were  made. 

After  overhearing  the  conversation  be 
tween  the  Gazelle  and  the  Pirates,  Cur 
umilla  repeated  it  to  Valentine.  The 
latter  thanked  him,  and  begged  him  to 
watch  the  movements  of  the  girl  and  Pe 
dro  Sandoval.  The  advice  Valentine 
gave  the  chief,  and  which  he  readily  fol 
lowed  was  intended  to  unmask  the  Ap 
aches,  compel  them  to  retire,  and  hence 
deprive  the  Pirate  of  the  assistance  he  ex 
pected  in  effecting  his  escape. 

In  fact  the  Apaches  on  seeing  their  en 
emies  spread  all  over  the  plain,  not 
knowing  their  intentions,  but  fearing  lesl 
they  should  be  surprised  by  them,  fell 
back,  and  that  so  rapidly,  that  the  scouts 
returned  to  the  village  without  seeing 
anything,  after  a  two  hours'  ride. 

On  the  report  they  delivered  of  all 
being  quiet  in  the  neighborhood  and 
the  road  quite  clear,  Unicorn  gave  the 
signal  for  departure  :  the  immense  cara 
van  slowly  set  out  to  the  sound  of  musi 
cal  instruments,  mingled  with  the  yells 
of  the  warriors  and  the  barking  of  the 
dogs.  Valentine,  for  greater  security, 
placed  the  two  females  at  the  head  of 
the  column,  in  the  group  of  horsemen 
formed  by  the  subordinate  chiefs. 

The  day  had  opened  with  a  pure  sky 
and  dazzling  sun  ;  the  atmosphere,  per 
fumed  by  the  exhalations  from  the  prai 
rie  flowers,  pleasantly  dilated  the  lunge, 
and  caused  the  hunters  to  feel  in  the 
highest  spirits.  The  caravan  was  un 
folded  like  an  immense  serpent  on  the 
prairie,  advancing  in  good  order  through 
an  enchanting  landscape. 

The  hunters  were  crossing  at  this  mo 
ment  the  spot  called  the  Bad  Laims,  a 
continuation  of  the  Black  Coast,  which 
the  Gila  intersects.  The  prairie  extend 
ed  along  the  river,  then  gradually  ascen 
ded  in  rollers  toward  the  mountains, 
and  was  covered  with  blocks  of  greyish- 
brown  granite,  displaying  various  strata. 

All  around  rose  a  marvellous  chain  ot 
tall  greyish  and  barren  mountains,  with 
extraordinarily  shaped  summits,  and 
spotted  with  dark  patches  of  conifera. 

The  Rio  Gila,  which  was  rather  narrow 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


121 


found  its  way  with  difficulty  through 
the  lofty  crests  of  schyst,  granite,  and 
clay,  and  the  nude  and  dead  scenery 
that  surrounded  it  was  but  slightly  an 
imated  on  the  banks  by  the  poplars  and 
pine  bushes  that  bordered  it. 

To  the  right  was  a  village  of  prairie 
dogs  :  these  pretty  little  animals,  which 
are  not  at  all  savage,  were  seated  on 
the  flattened  roofs  of  their  house,  watch 
ing  the  caravan,  as  they  shook  their 
tails  rapidly  and  uttered  their  shrill  cry, 
which  is  not  a  perfect  bark;  then  they 
disappeared  in  the  ground. 

The  caravan  rapidly  advanced  toward 
a  virgin  forest,  whose  gloomy  spurs 
stretched  out  nearly  to  the  river's  bank, 
and  which  they  reached  after  two  hours' 
march.  On  reaching  the  first  trees,  the 
caravan  halted  for  a  while,  in  order  to 
make  the  final  arrangements,  before 
burying  itself  beneath  the  gloomy  dome 
which  would  serve  as  its  shelter  for 
several  months. 

Before  leaving  his  friends,  the  white 
hunters,  the  Comanche  Chief  had  the 
iieighborhood  beaten  up,  but  no  trail 
was  visible ;  the  Apaches  seemed  to 
have  definitely  declined  further  fighting, 
and  gone  off.  In  fact,  it  would  have 
been  signal  folly  for  them  to  try  and 
attack  the  Comanches,  thrice  as  strong 
as  themselves,  rendered  haughty  by 
their  last  victory,  arid  who,  before  en 
tering  the  forest,  would  have  liked  no 
thing  better  than  to  have  a  parting  fight 
with  their  implacable  enemies. 

But  nothing  disturbed  the  calmness 
of  the  desert. 

"  My  brother  can  continue  his  jour 
ney,"  Unicorn  said  to  Valentine  ;  "  the 
Apaches  dogs  have  fled  with  the  feet  of 
antelopes." 

"  Oh,  we  do  not  fear  them,"  the  hun 
ter  replied,  disdainfully. 

"  Before  the  eighth  sun,  my  brother 
will  see  me  again,"  the  chief  continued. 

"  Good." 

"  Farewell." 

And  they  separated. 

The  Comanche  warriors  entered  the 
forest ;  for  a  while  the  sound  of  their 
footsteps  and  the  tinkling  of  the  bells 
fastened  to  their  dogs'  necks  re-echoed 
under  the  gloomy  arcades  of  the  forest ; 
then  silence  was  gradually  re-establish 


ed,  and   the  hunters  found  themselves 
alone.  . 

They  were  six  resolute  and  well- 
armed  men,  who  feared  no  danger ;  they 
could  continue  their  journey  in  perfect 
safety. 

"Are  we  still  far  from  the  islnnd 
where  Red  Cedar's  band  is  encamped  ?" 
Valentine  asked  the  Sachem  of  the 
Coras. 

"  Scarce  four  leagues,"  Eagle-wing 
answered.  "  Were  it  not  for  the  count 
less  turnings  we  shall  have  to  take,  we 
should  reach  it  in  an  hour;  but  we  shall 
not  arrive  till  the  last  song  of  the 
maukawis." 

"  Good  ;  you  and  Don  Pablo  will  go 
on  ahead  with  the  squatter's  daughter." 

"  Do  you  fear  anything  T'  Don  Pablo 
asked. 

"  Nothing ;  but  I  wish  to  speak  a  few 
minutes  with  the  Spanish  girl." 

"  All  right." 

The  two  men  pushed  on  with  the 
maiden,  and  Valentine  took  his  place  on 
the  right  of  the  Gazelle,  who  was  riding 
thoughtfully,  without  paying  any  atten 
tion  to  her  horse. 

The  revelations  made  by  Guru  mill  a 
had  the  more  struck  Valentine,  because 
he  did  not  at  all  comprehend  the  Gaz 
elle's  hatred  of  Ellen.  Every  feeling 
must  have  its  reason,  every  hatred  a 
cause;  and  both  these  escaped  him.  In 
vain  did  he  seek  in  his  memory  a  fact 
which  might  account  for,  if  not  excuse, 
the  strange  conduct  of  White  Gazelle ; 
he  found  nothing  that  would  put  him  on 
the  right  track. 

He  recalled  to  mind  that  he  had  seen 
the  girl  several  times  in  the  vicinity  of 
Don  Miguel  de  Zarate's  hacienda,  at  the 
Paso  del  Norte;  he  also  remembered 
that  Don  Pablo  had  done  her  a  slight 
service,  when  she  craved  his  help,  but 
her  relations  with  the  haciendero's  son 
had  terminated  there. 

He  believed  it  certain  that,  although 
Red  Cedar's  daughter  lived  near  the 
hacienda,  the  Gazelle  had  never  seen  her 
before  they  met  at  the  Indian  village. 
Still,  as  he  knew  Don  Pablo's  love  for 
Ellen,  a  love  of  which  the  young  man 
had  never  spoken  to  him,  but  which  he 
had  long  seen;  as,  too,  the  position  was 
grave,  and  Ellen  might  at  any  moment 


122 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


fall  into  danger,  which  must  be  avoided 
at  any  cost,  Valentine  resolved  to  have 
a  conversation  with  the  Spanish  girl, 
and  try  to  read  clearly  in  her  heart, 
were  that  possible. 

But  if  gentle  means  failed,  he  would 
show  her  no  indulgence,  or  let  a  gentle 
and  unoffending  creature  be  exposed  to 
the  perfidy  of  a  cruel  woman,  whom  no 
consideration  seemed  to  arrest  in  her 
sinister  plans. 

Valentine  looked  round. 

Ellen  was  about  two  hundred  yards 
ahead,  between  Eagle-wing  and  Don 
Pablo. 

Temporarily  reassured,  he  turned  to 
the  Spanish  girl,  who  at  this  moment 
was  talking  eagerly,  and  in  a  loud  voice, 
with  Pedro  Sandoval.  The  girl  blushed, 
and  ceased  speaking. 

Valentine,  not  appearing  to  notice  the 
confusion  his  presence  caused  the 
speakers,  bowed  slightly  to  the  Spaniard, 
acd  addressed  her  in  a  calm  voice  : 

"  1  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  "  if  I 
interrupt  a  doubtless  interesting  con 
versation  ;  but  I  wish  to  have  a  few 
words  with  you." 

The  girl  blushed  still  more  deeply. 
Her  black  eye  flashed  fire  under  the 
long  lash  that  veiled  it,  but  she  answer 
ed  in  a  trembling  voice,  as  she  stopped 
ner  horse : 

"  I  am  ready  to  listen  to  you,  senor 
caballero." 

"  Do  not  stop,  I  beg,  senora,"  Valen 
tine  said.  "This  worthy  man,  who 
doubtless  shares  all  your  secrets,"  he 
added,  with  an  ironical  smile,  "  can  hear 
our  conversation,  which,  indeed,  will  re 
late  to  him." 

"  In  truth,"  the  girl  answered,  in  a 
firmer  voice,  as  she  let  her  horse  pro 
ceed,  "  I  have  nothing  hidden  from  this 
worthy  man,  as  you  do  him  the  honor  of 
calling  him." 

"  Very  good,  senora,"  the  hunter  con 
tinued  with  equal  coldness.  "  Now,  be 
good  enough  not  to  take  in  ill  part  what 
i  am  about  to  say  to  you,  and  answer  a 
question  I  shall  take  the  liberty  of  ask 
ing  you." 

"  1  presume  you  intend  me  to  under 
go  an  interrogation  ?" 

"•That  is  not  my  intention,  at  least  at 
this  moment;  it  will  depend  on  you, 


madam,  that  we  do  not  pass  the  limits 
of  a  friendly  conversation." 

"  Speak,  sir.  If  the  question  you  ask 
me  is  one  of  those  a  woman  may  an 
swer,  I  will  satisfy  you." 

"Be  good  enough  to  tell  me,  madam, 
whether  you  found  us  cruel  enemies  last 
night  r 

"  Why  this  question  ?" 

"  Be  so  kind  as  to  answer  it  first." 

"  I  can  only  speak  in  terms  of  praise 
of  your  conduct." 

"  I  thank  you.  And  how  did  Miss 
Ellen  treat  you  ?" 

"  Admirably." 

"  Good.  You  are  hot  ignorant,  I 
think,  that  through  your  yesterday's 
aggression,  an  aggression  which  may  be 
regarded  as  attempted  murder  and  rob 
bery,  since,  as  you  are  not  at  war  with 
the  Indians,  and  as,  belonging  to  our 
race,  should  regard  us  as  friends — you 
are  not  ignorant,  1  say,  that  you  have 
rendered  yourself  amenable  to  the  prai 
rie  law,  which  says,  '  an  eye  for  an  eye, 
and  a  tooth  for  a  tooth.'  " 

"  What  do  you  wish  to  arrive  at  ?" 

"  Pardon  me.  You  are  not  ignorant, 
I  assume,  that,  instead  of  treating  you 
as  1  did,  with  the  most  perfect  respect, 
I  should  have  been  quite  justified  in 
passing  a  rope  round  your  neck,  and 
hanging  you,  with  your  worthy  friend, 
to  the  branches  of  the  first  tree  :  and 
there  are  some  magnificent  specimens 
in  these  parts  !" 

u  Sir !"  the  girl  exclaimed,  as  she 
drew  herself  up,  and  became  livid  with 
fury. 

"Pardon  me,*'  Valentine  continued 
impressively.  "  I  am  alluding  here  to 
an  incontestable  right,  which  you  can 
not  deny  :  do  not  get  in  a  passion,  but 
answer  me  categorically,  yes,  or  no." 

"  Well,  sir,  yes ;  you  had  that  right, 
and  you  still  have  it.  What  checks 
you?  Why  do  you  not  use  it?"  she 
added,  as  she  gave  him  a  defiant  look. 

"  Because  it  does  not  suit  me  to  do 
so  at  this  moment,"  Valentine  said, 
coldly  and  drily. 

These  stern  words  suddenly  checked 
the  passion  that  was  boiling  in  the  girFs 
heart :  she  let  her  eyes  fall,  and  re 
plied  : 

"  Is  that  all  you  have  to  say  to  me  V 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE   PRAIRIES. 


123 


"  No,  it  is  not  all  ;  and  I  have  a  final 
question  to  ask  you." 

"  Speak,  sir,  as  I  am  condemned  to 
listen  to  you." 

"I  will  not  occupy  much  of  your 
time." 

"  Oh,  sir,"  she  answered  ironically, 
"  my  time  cannot  be  employed  better 
than  in  conversing  with  so  polished  a 
gen  tie  man  as  yourself." 

"1  thank  you  for  the  good  opinion 
you  are  kind  enough  to  have  of  a  poor 
hunter  like  myself,"  he  replied,  with  a 
tinge  of  sarcasm  j  "  and  I  now  reach 
the  second  question  I  wished  to  ask 
you." 

"  In  truth,  it  seems,  sir,  that  like  the 
juez  de  letras,  your  accomplices,"  she 
added  bitterly,  "  you  have  classified  in 
your  head  the  questions  that  compose 
my  examination  :  for,  in  spite  of  what 
you  did  me  the  honor  of  telling  me,  I 
persist  in  seeing  only  an  examination  in 
what  it  pleases  you  to  call  our  conver 
sation." 

"  As  you  please,  madam,"  Valentine 
replied  with  imperturbable  coolness. 
"  Will  you  explain  to  me  how  it  is, 
that,  after  having  been  treated,  accord 
ing  to  your  own  statement,  by  us  so 
kindly,  you  laid  aside  all  gratitude  and 
feelings  of  honor  last  night,  to  join  two 
villains  in  a  plot  for  carrying  off  a  girl 
to  whom  you  owe  your  life,  and  hand 
ing  her  over  as  a  slave  to  the  most  fe 
rocious  Indians  on  the  prairies — the 
Sioux  ?" 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE  AMBUSCADE. 

IP  the  lightning  had  struck  the  ground 
at  the  Spanish  girl's  feet,  it  would  not 
have  cause4  her  greater  terror  than  this 
revelation,  which  she  was  far  from  ex 
pecting,  made  in  a  clear,  dry,  and  un 
moved  voice. 

Her  features  were  contracted — the 
blood  mounted  to  her  head — she  totter 
ed  on  her  horse,  and  would  have  fallen 
oft',  had  not  Valentine  held  her.  But 
overcoming  by  the  strength  of  her  will 
the  terrible  emotion  that  troubled  her, 


she  repulsed  the  young  man,  saying  in 
a  firm  voice,  and  with  an  implacable  ac 
cent  : 

"  You  are  well  informed,  sir ;  such  is 
my  intention." 

Valentine  felt  momentarily  stupified. 
He  regarded  this  woman,  who  had 
hardly  emerged  from  childhood,  whose 
lovely  features,  distorted  by  the  pas 
sions  that  agitated  them,  had  become 
almost  hideous :  he  recalled,  as  in  a 
dream,  another  woman  nearly  as  cruel 
whom  he  had  once  known.*  An  indes 
cribable  feeling  of  sorrow  pervaded  his 
heart  at  the  terrible  reminiscence  thus 
suddenly  evoked.  So  much  perfidity 
seemed  to  him  to  go  beyond  the  limits 
of  human  wickedness;  and  for  an  in 
stant  he  almost  fancied  himself  in  the 
presence  of  a  fiend. 

"  And  you  dare  confess  it  to  me  ?" 
he  at  length  said,  with  badly  concealed 
terror. 

"  And  why  not  ?  What  can  you  do 
to  me  ?  Kill  me  !  A  glorious  revenge 
for  a  brave  man  !  And,  besides,  what 
do  I  care  for  life  1  Who  knows  1  per 
haps,  without  wishing  it,  and  fancying 
you  are  punishing  me,  you  would  do 
me  an  uncommon  service  by  killing 
me." 

"Kill  you?  nonsense,"  the  hunter 
said,  with  a  smile  of  contempt.  "  Crea 
tures  of  your  kind  are  not  killed,  lu 
the  first  flush  of  passion  we  crush  them 
under  our  boot-heel,  like  venomous  rep 
tiles  :  but,  on  reflection,  we  prefer 
plucking  out  their  teeth.  That  is  what 
I  have  done,  viper"?  now  bite  if  you 
dare  !" 

A  fearful  rage  took  possession  of  the 
Spanish  girl ;  she  raised  her  whip,  and 
with  a  movement  more  rapid  than 
thought  struck  Valentine  across  the  face, 
merely  hissing  the  word  : 

"  Coward  !" 

At  this  insult  the  hunter  lost  his 
coolness.  He  drew  a  pistol  and  fired  it 
point  blank  at  this  woman,  who  sat  be 
fore  him  motionless,  and  smiling.  But 
she  had  not  lost  one  of  the  French 
man's  movements  out  of  sight.  She 
made  her  horse  leap  on  one  side,  and 
the  bullet  whistled  inoffensively  past  her 

*  See    "  The  Chief  of  the  Aucaa,"  same  author. 


124 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


ear.  At  the  sound  of  the  firing,  the  hun 
ters  felt  alarmed,  and  they  galloped  up 
to  the  spot,  to  inquire  what  had  occur 
red. 

The  shot  had  been  scarce  fired  ere 
Pedro  Sandoval,  who  had  hitherto  lis 
tened  with  apparent  indifference  to  the 
conversation,  dashed  at  Valentine,  bran 
dishing  a  long  knife  which  he  had  man 
aged  to  conceal. 

The  hunter,  who  had  regained  his 
presence  of  mind,  awaited  him  firmly ; 
and  as  the  Pirate  came  up  to  him,  he 
stopped  him  short  with  a  bullet  through 
his  body. 

The  villain  rolled  on  the  ground  with 
a  yell  of  disappointed  rage. 

The  Spanish  girl  looked  around  her 
disdainfully,  made  her  horse  bound, 
and  started  at  an  incredible  pace  amidst 
the  bullets  that  whizzed  round  her  from 
all  sides,  crying  in  a  hoarse  voice  : 

"  We  shall  meet  again,  soon,  Valen 
tine.  Till  then,  farewell." 

The  hunter  would  not  allow  her  to 
be  pursued,  and  she  soon  disappeared 
in  the  tall  grass. 

"  Oh,  oh,  this  scamp  seems  to  me 
very  ill,"  the  general  said,  after  dis 
mounting.  "  What  the  deuce  shall  we 
do  with  him  ?" 

"  Hang  him  !"  Valentine  observed, 
drily. 

"  Well,"  the  general  continued, 
"  that  is  not  such  a  bad  idea.  In  that 
way,  we  shall  get  rid  of  one  of  the  vil 
lains,  and,  on  reflection,  that  will  pre 
vent  him  feeling  the  pain  of  his  wound." 

"  Let  us  finish  with  him,"  Don  Mi 
guel  interrupted. 

"  Gaspita!  what  a  hurry  you  are  in, 
my  friend,"  the  general  answered. 
';  Hum !  1  am  certain  he  is  not  in  such 
haste — are  you,  my  good  fellow  ?" 

"  Come,"  Valentine  said,  with  that 
mocking  expression  he  had  through  his 
Parisian  birth,  and  which  broke  out  at 
intervals — "  our  friend  is  in  luck.  He 
has  fallen  at  the  foot  of  a  splendid  tree, 
which  will  form  an  observatory  whence 
he  can  admire  the  landscape  at  his  ease. 
Curumilla,  my  worthy  fellow,  climb  up 
the  tree,  and  bend  down  that  branch  as 
much  as  you  can." 

Curumilla,  according  to  his  laudable 
habit,  executed  immediately  the  order 


given  him,  though  without  uttering  a 
word. 

"  Now,  my  good  fellow,"  the  hunter 
continued,  addressing  the  wounded  man, 
"  if  you  are  not  a  thorough  Pagan,  and 
can  recollect  any  prayer,  1  should  re 
commend  you  to  repeat  it,  for  it  will 
do  you  more  good  than  ever  it  did." 

And,  raising  Sandoval  in  his  arms, 
who  maintained  a  gloomy  silence,  he 
passed  the  cord  round  his  neck. 

"  One  moment,"  Curumilla  remarked, 
as  he  seized  with  his  left  hand  the  ban 
dit's  thick  hair. 

"  That  is  true,"  said  the  hunter.  "  h 
is  your  right,  chief,  so  make  use  of  it." 

The  Indian  did  not  wait  for  this  to 
be  repeated.  In  a  second  he  had  scalped 
the  Spaniard,  who  looked  at  him  with 
flashing  eyes,  and  coldly  placed  the 
dripping  scalp  in  his  girdle. 

Valentine  turned  away  his  head  in 
disgust  at  this  hideous  sight,  but  the 
Spaniard  did  not  give  vent  to  a  groan. 

As  soon  as  he  had  placed  the  running 
noose  round  the  bandit's  neck,  Valen 
tine  threw  the  cord  to  Curumilla,  who 
attached  it  firmly  to  the  branch,  and 
then  came  down  again. 

"  Now  that  justice  is  done,  let  us  go," 
said  Valentine. 

The  witnesses  of  the  execution  re 
mounted. 

The  branch  which  had  been  held  down 
flew  back,  bearing  with  it  the  bcdy  of 
the  Pirate. 

Pedro  Sandoval  remained  alone, 
quivering  in  the  last  convulsions  of 
tleath. 

So  soon  as  Valentine  and  his  com 
rades  were  out  of  sight,  several  Apa 
ches,  at  the  head  of  whom  were  Ked 
Cedar  and  the  White  Gazelle,  started 
out  of  a  thicket. 

An  Indian  climbed  up  the  tree,  cut 
the  rope,  and  the  body  of  the  Spaniard 
was  gently  laid  on  the  ground. 

He  did  not  give  a  sign  of  existence. 

The  girl  and  Red  Cedar  hastened  to 
give  him  help,  in  order  to  recai  life, 
were  it  possible,  to  this  poor  and  fear 
fully  mutilated  body  ;  but  all  their  ef 
forts  seemed  futile. 

Pedro  Sandoval  remained  cold  and 
inert  in  the  arms  of  his  friends.  In  vain 
had  they  removed  the  siip-kuot  which 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


125 


pressed  his  throat — his  swollen  and  blue 
veins  would  not  diminish  in  size,  or  his 
biood  circulate. 
All  seemed  over. 
As  a  last  chance,  an  Apache  took  a 
skinful  of  water,  and  poured  the  con 
tents  on  the  bare  and  bleeding  skull  of 
the  Spaniard.  At  the  contact  of  this 
cold  shower,  his  whole  body  trembled 
a  deep  sigh  burst  with  an  effort  from 
his  oppressed  chest,  and  the  dying  mar 
painfully  opened  his  eyes,  fixing  a  sac 
and  languishing  glance  on  those  who 
surrounded  him. 

"  Heaver,  be  praised !"  said  the  girl 
"he  is  not  dead." 

The  bandit  looked  at  the  girl  with 
that  glassy  and  wandering  stare  which 
is  the  infallible  sign  of  a  speedy  death  ; 
a  smile  played  round  his  violet  lips,  and 
he  muttered  in  a  low  and  inarticulate 
voice : 

"  No,  I  am  not  dead,  but  I  shall  soon 
be  so." 

Then  he  closed  his  eyes  again,  and 
fell  back,  apparently  in  his  former  state 
of  insensibility. 

The  spectators  anxiously  followed  the 
.progress  of  this  frightful  agony. 

White  Gazelle  frowned,  and,  bending 
over  the  dying  man,  put  her  mouth  to 
his  ear. 

"  Do  you  hear  me,  Sandoval  T'  she 
«uid  to  him. 

The  bandit  suddenly  quivered,  as  if 
he  had  received  an  electric  shock.  He 
turned  toward  the  speaker,  and  partially 
opened  his  eyes. 

"  Who  is  near  me  ?"  he  asked. 

"I,  Pedro.  Do  you,  not  recognize 
me,  old  comrade  ?"  Red  Cedar  said. 

"  Yes,"  the  Pirate  said,  peevishly,  "  I 
recognize  you  ;  but  it  was  not  you  I 
wished  to  see." 

"  Whom  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  The  Nina.  Has  she  abandoned  me 
too — she,  for  whom  I  am  dying  !" 

**  No,  I  have  not  abandoned  you," 
the  girl  quickly  interrupted  him ;  "your 
reproach  is  unjust — for  it  was  I  who 
succored  you.  Here  I  am,  father." 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh  of  satis 
faction,  "  you  are  there,  Nina  ;  all  the 
better.  God,  if  there  be  a  God,  will 
reward  you  for  what  you  have  done." 

8 


"  Do  not  speak  of  that,  but  tell  ma 
why  you  asked  for  me7  father." 

"  Do  not  give  me  that  name,"  the 
bandit  said  violently  ;  "  I  am  not  your 
father  !'' 

There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

At  length  the  Pirate  continued,  in  an 
almost  indistinct  voice,  and  as  if  speak 
ing  to  himself : 

"  The  hand  of  God  is  in  this— it  was 
He  who  decreed  that  at  the  last  mo 
ment  the  daughter  of  the  victim  should 
see  one  of  the  principal  assassins  die." 

He  shook  his  head  piteously,  sighed 
and  added,  mournfully  : 

"  That  is  the  hand  of  God." 

His  hearers  looked  at  each  other  si 
lently  ;  an  instinctive  fear,  a  species  of 
superstitious  terror  had  seized  upon 
them,  and  they  did  not  dare  question 
this  man.  A  few  minutes  elapsed. 

"  Oh,  how  I  suffer  !"  he  suddenly 
muttered  ;  "  my  head  is  a  red-hot  fur 
nace — give  me  drink." 

Water  was  quickly  brought  him^  but 
he  repulsed  it,  saying  : 

"  No,  not  water — [  want  to  regain 
my  strength." 

"  What  will  you  have,  then  ?"  Bed 
Cedar  asked  him. 

"  Give  me  aguardiente." 

"  Nay,"  the  girl  said  imploringly  ; 
"  d'o  not  drink  spirits — they  will  kill 
you." 

The  bandit  grinned  horribly. 

"  Kill  me  ?"  he  said/"  why,  am  I  not 
a  dead  man  already,  poor  fool  ?" 

The  White  Gazelle  gave  Red  Cedar  a 
glance. 

"  Let  us  do  what  he  wishes,"  the  lat 
er  whispered  ;  "  he  is  a  lost  man." 

"  Aguardiente,"  the  sufferer  said 
again  ;  "make  haste,  if  you  do  not  wish 
me  to  die  ere  I  have  spoken." 

Red  Cedar  seized  his  gourd,  and  in 
spite  of  the  girl's  entreaties,  thrust  the 
neck  between  the  Pirate's  lips. 

Sandoval  drank  deeply. 

"  Ah  !"  he  said,  with  a  sigh  of  satis- 
'action  ;  "  at  present  I  feel  strong.  I 
did  not  believe  that  it  was  so  difficult 
o  die.  Well,  if  there  be  a  God,  maj 
His  will  be  done.  Red  Cedar,  give  nib 
one  of  your  pistols,  and  leave  me  your 
gourd." 


126 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


The  squatter  did  as  his  comrade  re 
quested. 

"  Very  good,"  he  went  on  ;  "  now, 
retire  all  of  you ;  I  have  to  speak  with 
the  Nina." 

Red  Cedar  could  not  conceal  his  dis 
satisfaction. 

"  Why  weary  yourself?"  he  said ;  "  it 
would  be  better  for  you  to  let  us  pay 
you  that  attention  your  condition  de 
mands." 

"  Oh !"  the  bandit  said,  with  a  grin, 
"  I  understand  you ;  you  would  sooner 
see  me  die  like  a  dog,  without  uttering 
a  syllable,  for  you  suspect  what  I  am 
about  to  say.  Well,  I  feel  sorry  for 
you,  gossip,  but  I  must  and  will  speak." 

The  squatter  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  What  do  I  care  for  your  wander 
ings'?"  he  said ;  "  it  is  only  the  interest 
]  feel  in  you  that " 

"  Enough !"  Sandoval  interrupted 
him,  sharply.  "  Silence  !  I  will  speak  ! 
no  human  power  can  force  me  in  my  dy 
ing  hours  to  keep  the  secret  longer  ;  it 
has  been  rankling  in  my  bosom  too  long 
already." 

"  My  good  father "  the  girl  mur 
mured. 

"  Peace,"  the  bandit  went  onauthorita- 
tively,  "do  not  oppose  my  will,  Nina. 
You  must  learn  from  me  certain 
things  before  I  render  my  accounts  to 
Him  who  sees  everything." 

Red  Cedar  fixed  a  burning  glance  on 
the  dying  man,  as  he  convulsively  clutch 
ed  the  butt  of  a  pistol ;  but  he  suddenly 
loosed  his  hold,  and  smiled  ironically. 

"  What  do  I  carer  he  said;  "  it  is 
too  late  now." 

Sandoval  heard  him. 

"  Perhaps  so,"  he  replied  j  "  Heaven 
alone  knows." 

"We  shall  see,"  the  squatter  retort- 
ted,  sarcastically. 

He  made  a  signal. 

The  Apaches  retired  silently  with 
him,  and  the  girl  remained  alone  near 
the  dying  man. 

White  Gazelle  was  a  prey  to  an  ex 
traordinary  emotion,  for  which  she 
could  not  account ;  she  experienced  a 
curiosity  mingled  with  terror,that  caus 
ed  her  a  strange  oppression  and  trouble. 

She  regarded  the  ma  nlying  half  dead 
at  her  feet,  and  who  while  writhing  in 


atrocious  pain,  fixed  on  her  a  glance 
full  of  indescribable  pity  and  irony. 

She  feared,  and  yet  desired  that  the 
bandit  should  make  to  her  the  gloomy 
confession  she  expected.  Something 
told  her  that  on  this  man  her  life  and 
future  fortune  depended. 

But  he  remained  gloomy   and  dumb. 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

THE    PIRATE'S    CONFESSION. 

A  few  moments  passed,  during 
which  the  Pirate  seemed  painfully  col 
lecting  his  thoughts  before  speaking. 

White  Gazelle,  with  her  eyes  fixed 
on  him,  waited  with  anxious-  curiosity. 

At  length,  the  bandit  seized  the  gourd, 
raised  it  to  his  lips  a  second  time,  and 
after  drinking  heartily,  replaced  it  by 
his  side.  A  feverish  flush  immediately 
spread  over  his  cheeks,  his  eves  grew 
brighter,  and  he  said,  in  a  firmer  voice 
than  might  have  been  expected  : 

"  Listen  to  me  attentively,  child,  and 
profit  by  what  you  are  about  to  hear. 
I  am  dying  and  men  do  not  lie  at  such 
a  moment.  The  words  I  shall  utter 
are  true.  You  well  know  me." 

He  stopped  fur  some  seconds,  and 
then  continued  with  an  effort : 

"  1  have  not  always  been  a  Pirate  of 
the  Prairies,  or  tiger  with  a  human 
face— one  of  those  wretches  whom  it  is 
permissable  to  hunt  like  wild  beasts. 

"  No  !  there  was  a  time  when  1  was 
young,  handsome,  and  rich ;  at  that  re 
mote  period  1  was  called  Walter  Sta- 
pleton,  and  was  so  rich  that  1  did  nol 
know  the  amount  of  my  fortune.  Like 
every  one  else  you  fancied  me  a  Span 
iard,  and  have  been  equally  deceived — 
1  am  a  citizen  of  the  United  States,  de 
scended  from  an  old  puritan  family,  long 
settled  at  New  York.  My  parents  died 
before  I  was  twenty  years  of  age ;  mas 
ter  of  an  immense  fortune,  1  had  become 
connected  with  all  the  scamps  in  the  city; 
two  especially  became  my  intimate 
friends,  and  succeeded  in  a  short  time 
in  getting  such  a  hold  on  me,  that  I  only 
acted  on  their  impulses  and  by  their 
suggestions.  One  of  them  was  born  iu 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


127 


New  York  like  myself,  the  other  was  i 
Mexican. 

"  Both  were,  like  myself,  young,  good 
looking,  and  rich,  or,  at  least,  they  ap 
peared  so,  for  they  squandered  enor 
mous  sums.  Their  names  were — but 
why  tell  you  them  ]"  he  added,  "  I  am 
not  speaking  of  them  here,  but  only  of 
myself.  One  day  the  Mexican  came  to 
me  wuh  a  letter  in  his  hand ;  his  family 
called  him  home,  for  he  was  to  enter  the 
church  j  but  he  would  not,  or,  at  least, 
could  not  leave  New  York  at  the  mo 
ment.  I  never  knew  the  reason ;  but 
one  month  later  we  were  all  three  com 
pelled  to  seek  a  refuge  in  Mexico,  after 
a  mournful  tragedy,  in  which  my  two 
friends  played  the  chief  part,  leaving  be 
hind  them  a  trail  of  blood.  I  repeat  to 
you  that  1  never  learned  the  circum 
stances." 

At  this  moment  a  rustling  was  audi 
ble  in  the  bushes  against  which  the  ban 
dit  was  leaning ;  but  the  Gazelle,  over 
come  by  the  increasing  interest  of  the 
story,  did  not  notice  it. 

There  was  an  interruption  for  some 
minutes. 

Pedro  Sandoval  was  growing  percep 
tibly  weaker. 

"1  must  finish,  however,"  he  said; 
and  making  an  effort,  he  continued : 
"  We  were  at  Mexico,  where  we  lived 
nobly.  In  a  short  time  I  gained  the  re 
putation  of  a  finished  gentleman.  A 
great  gambler,  and  adored  by  women, 
shall  I  repeat  to  you  the  follies  and  ex 
travagances  that  filled  my  days  1  What 
good  would  it  be?  Suffice  it  for  you  to 
know  that  I  deserved  this  reputation  in 
every  respect.  One  day,  a  stranger  ar 
rived  in  Mexico.  He  was,  it  was  said, 
a  caballero  from  an  up-country  province, 
enormously  rich,  and  travelling  for  his 
pleasure.  This  man  in  a  short  time  dis 
played  such  recklessness,  that  his  repu 
tation  soon  equalled  and  even  surpassed 
mine.  I,  who  had  always  been  the  first 
in  every  wild  scheme,  was  placed  in  the 
second  rank.  My  friends  laughed  at 
the  sudden  change  effected,  and  by  this 
incessant  raillery  augmented  my  anger 
and  detestation  of  this  Don  Pacheco  de 
Tudela,  as  the  man  was  called.  Seve 
ral  times  already  we  had  met  face  to 


face  at  the  tertulias,  and  each  time  our 
glances  crossed  like  sword  blades. 

"  I  comprehended  that  this  man  hated 
me. 

"For  my  part,  a  dull  jealousy  de 
voured  me  when  his  name  was  men 
tioned  in  my  presence.  A  crisis  was 
imminent,  and  we  both  sought  it. 

"  One  evening,  when  we  were  both 
at  the  tertulia  of  the  Governor  of  Arispe, 
a  game  of  monte  was  arranged.  You 
know  that  game,  which  is  the  ruling 
passion  of  the  Mexicans.  I  had  held 
the  bank  for  some  hours,  and  an  incredi 
ble  run  of  luck  had  made  me  gain  im 
mense  sums,  which  were  piled  up  before 
me,  and  covered  nearly  the  whole  of  the 
table.  The  gamblers,  terrified  by  this 
constant  good  luck,  retired  in  terror.  J. 
was  about  to  collect  and  send  off  my 
money,  when  I  heard  a  few  paces  from 
me  Don  Pacheco  saying  ironically  to  a 
party  of  friends : 

"  '  I  am  not  jealous  of  Senor  Staple- 
ton's  good  luck.  I  have  allowed  him  to 
win  that  he  may  repair  his  ruined  for 
tune,  and  stop  the  cries  of  his  creditors, 
who  have  been  yelping  for  a  long  time 
at  his  heels.' 

"  These  words  wounded  me  the  more 
because  they  were  true.  My  fortune, 
mortgaged  beyond  its  value,  only  existed 
on  paper,  and  numerous  creditors  inces 
santly  pursued  me.  I  walked  up  to 
Don  Pacheco,  and  looked  him  boldly  in 
the  face. 

"'  To  prove  to  you  that  I  do  not  fear 
osing,'  I  said  to  him,  '  1  offer  to  stake 
on  one  hand  with  you  all  it  has  taken 
ne  so  many  hours  to  win.' 

"  The  stranger  looked  at  me  in  his 
turn  ;  then  he  said,  in  his  cutting  voice, 
md  with  the  sarcastic  accent  habitual  to 
lim : 

"  '  You    are    wrong,    my   dear    sir. 
This   money  is  very  necessary  to  you ; 
nd,  if  I  were  mad  enough  to  play  with 
vou,  I  warn  you  that  you  would  lose.' 

"  He  laughed  in  my  face,  and  turned 
lis  back  on  rne. 

"'Oh!'    I    said    to    him,   'you  are 

fraid — and  then,  again,  you   probably 

do  not   possess    one  quarter    the  sum 

here,  and    that   is  why  you   dare  not 

>lay. 


128 


THE    PIRATES    OP    THE    PRAIRIES. 


"  Don  Pacheco  shrugged  his  shoul 
ders  without  replying  to  me,  and  ad 
dressed  the  richest  banker  of  Arispe, 
who  was  standing  near  him  : 

"'Senor  Don  Julio  Baldomero,'  he 
said  to  him,  *  how  much  do  you  think 
there  is  on  that  table  V 

"  The  banker  took  a  glance  in  my  di 
rection,  and  then  answered : 

"  l  Six  hundred  thousand  piastres,  or 
nearly  so,  senor.' 

"  *  Very  good,'  the  other  said.  *  Don 
Julio,  be  good  enough  to  give  me  a  bill 
for  twelve  hundred  thousand  piastres, 
payable  at  sight,  on  your  bank.' 

"The  banker  bowed,  took  out  his 
pocket-book,  and  wrote  a  few  words  on 
a  leaf  which  he  tore  out,  and  handed  to 
Don  Pacheco. 

"  '  Do  you  believe,  sir,'  the  Mexican 
staid  to  me,  "  that  this  bill  represents 
the  sum  before  you  V 

"These  words  were  accompanied  by 
the  sarcastic  smile  this  man  constantly 
had  oil  his  lips,  and  which  drove  me 
wild. 

"'Yes,'  I  replied  haughtily,  'and  I 
am  awaiting  your  determination.' 

"  'It  is  formed,'  he  said.  '  Ask  for 
new  cards,  and  let  us  begin.  Still,  you 
can  recal  your  word,  if  you  like.' 

"  '  Nonsense,'  I  s^id,  as  I  undid  a  fresh 
pack  of  cards. 

"  Although  our  altercation  had  been 
short,  as  everybody  knew  our  feelings 
toward  each  other,  the  conversation 
had  broken  off,  and  all  the  guests  at 
the  tertulia  had  collected  around  us. 

"  A  profound  silence  prevailed  in  the 
room,  and  the  faces  expressed  the  cu 
riosity  and  interest  aroused  by  this 
strange  scene. 

"  After  shuffling  the  cards  for  some 
time,  I  handed  them  to  my  opponent  to 
out. 

"  The  stranger  laid  his  right  hand  on 
the  pack,  and  said  to  me  impertinently  : 

"  *  There  is  yet  time.' 

"  I  shrugged  my  shoulders  as  reply. 

"  He  cut,  and  I  began  dealing. 

"  At  the  fourth  hand  I  had  lost,  and 
was  ruined  !" 

The  Pirate  stopped.  For  some  time 
his  voice  had  been  growing  weaker,  and 
it  was  only  by  making  extreme  efforts 
that  he  succeeded  in  speaking  distinctly. 


"  Drink !"  he  said  so  softly  that  the 
girl  scarce  heard  him. 

She  caught  up  a  skin  of  water. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  brandy." 

White  Gazelle  obeyed  him. 

The  Pirate  eagerly  drank  two  or  three 
mauthfuls. 

"  All  was  over,"  he  continued,  in  a 
firm  voice,  with  sparkling  eye,  and  faca 
flushed  by  the  fever  preying  on  him. 
"Concealing  my  rage  in  my  heart,  I 
prepared  to  leave  the  table  with  a  smile 
on  my  lips. 

" '  One  moment,  sir/  my  opponent 
said.  *  The  game  is  not  over  yet.' 

"  *  What  do  you  want  more  ?'  I  an 
swered  him.  "  '  Have  you  not  won  ?' 

"  *  Oh !'  he  said,  with  a  gesture  of 
supreme  contempt :  '  that  is  true.  I 
have  won  this  wretched  sum.  But  you 
have  a  stake  still  to  risk/ 

"  *  I  do  not  understand  you,  sir.' 

"  '  Perhaps  so  !  listen  to  me.  There 
are  on  this  table  eighteen  hundred  thou 
sand  piastres,  that  is  to  say,  a  fabulous 
fortune,  which  would  form  the  happi 
ness  of  a  dozen  families.' 

"  '  Well  ?'  1  answered  in  a  surprise. 

"  *  Well,  I  will  play  you  for  them,  if 
you  like.  Hang  it,  my  dear  sir,  I  am 
in  luck  at  this  moment,  and  I  will  not 
let  fortune  escape  me  while  I  hold  her.' 

"  *  I  have  nothing  more  to  stake,  sir, 
and  you  know  it,'  1  said  in  a  loud  and 
haughty  voice.  '  I  do  not  understand 
what  you  are  alluding  to.' 

"  To  this  he  replied,  without  seeming 
in  the  least  disconcerted,  *  You  love 
Dona  Isabella  Izaguirre  ?" 

"  '  How  does  that  concern  you  V 

"  '  If  I  may  believe  public  rumor,  you 
are  to  marry  her  in  a  few  days,'  he  con 
tinued  calmly.  '  Well,  I  too  love  Dona 
Isabel,  and  I  have  made  up  my  mind 
she  shall  be  mine  by  fair  means  or 
foul.' 

"  *  And  V  I  interrupted  him  vio 
lently. 

"  '  And,  if  you  like,  I  will  stake  these 
eighteen  hundred  thousand  piastres 
against  her  hand.  You  see  that  I  ap 
preciate  her  value,'  he  added,  as  he 
carelessly  lit  his  panatelles. 

"  '  Canario  !  a  splendid  game  !  what 
a  m;ignificent  stake  !  a  man  cannot  act 
more  gallantly  !'  such  were  the  remarks 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


129 


made   around  me  by  the  witnesses  of 
this  scene. 

"  '  You  hesitate  ?'  Don  Pacheco 
asked  me  in  his  ironical  way. 

"  I  looked  defiantly  round  me,  but 
no  one  accepted  my  challenge. 

"  '  No,'  1  answered  in  a  hollow  voice, 
my  teeth  clenched  with  rage.  '  I  ac 
cept,' 

"The  audience  uttered  a  cry  of  ad 
miration.  Never  in  the  memory  of 
players  at  Arispe,  had  a  game  of  monte 
afforded  such  interest,  and  all  eagerly 
collected  round  the  table.  I  felt  for 
Dona  Isabel  that  profound  love  which 
constitutes  a  man's  existence. 

"  '  Who  is  to  deal  V  I  asked  my  ad 
versary. 

"  'You !'  he  replied,  with  his  infernal 
smile. 

"  Five  minutes  later,  I  had  lost  my 
mistress  !" 

There  was  a  moment's  silence ;  a 
nervous  tremor  had  assailed  the  Pirate, 
and  for  some  instants  it  was  only  by 
an  extraordinary  effort  that  he  had 
been  enabled  to  utter  the  words  that 
seemed  to  choke  him.  It  was  evi 
dent  that  the  wound  in  his  heart  was 
as  vivid  as  on  the  day  when  he  re 
ceived  it,  and  that  only  a  strong  in 
terest  induced  him  to  refer  to  it. 

"  At  length,"  he  continued  with  a 
certain  volubility,  as  he  wiped  away 
the  cold  perspiration  that  beaded  on 
his  forehead,  and  mingled  with  the 
blood  that  oozed  from  his  wound, 
"the  stranger  approached  me. 

"  '  Are  you  satisfied  ?'  he  said. 

"  '  Not  yet,'  I  replied  in  a  gloomy 
voice :  '  we  have  still  one  game  to 
play  out.' 

"  Oh,'  he  said,  ironically,  '  I  fancied 
you  had  nothing  more  to  lose.' 

"  *  You  were  mistaken.  You  have 
still  my  life  to  gain  from  me.' 

"  *  That  is  true,'  he  said,  '  heaven,  I 
will  win  it  from  you.  I  wish  to  cover 
your  stake  to  the  end,  so  let  us  go 
out/ 

"'Why  do  that?'  I  said  to  h  rn. 
'This  table  served  as  the  arena  for 
the  first  two  games,  and  the  third 
shall  be  decided  upon  it.' 

"  '  Done !'    he   said.      '  By   Jupiter  ! 


you  are  a  fine  fellow !     I  may  kill  you, 
but  I  shall  be  proud  of  my  victory.' 

"  People  attempted  in  vain  to  pre 
vent  the  duel ;  but  neither  the  stranger 
nor  myself  would  listen  to  it.  At 
length  they  consented  to  give  us  the 
weapons  we  asked  for  ;  and  then,  more 
over,  this  strange  combat  in  the  flower- 
adorned  room,  on  the  table  covered  with 
gold,  among  lovely  young  women, 
whose  freshness  and  beauty  the  lights 
heightened,  had  something  fatal  about 
it  which  inflamed  the  imagination.  The 
two  heroes  of  Arispe,  the  men  who  had 
for  so  long  a  time  formed  the  sole  topic 
of  conversation,  had  at  length  decided 
to  settle  which  should  definitely  hold 
the  palm. 

"  1  leaped  on  the  table,  and  my  oppo 
nent  at  once  followed  my  example.  [ 
enjoyed  the  reputation  of  being  a  fine 
swordsman,  and  yet,  at  the  second  pass, 
I  fell  with  my  chest  pierced  through  and 
through.  For  three  months  I  hovered 
between  life  and  death,  and  when  my 
youth  and  powerful  constitution  at 
length  triumphed  over  my  horrible 
wound,  and  1  was  approaching  convales 
cence,  I  inquired  about  my  adversary. 
On  the  day  after  our  duel,  this  man 
had  married  Dona  Isabel ;  a  week  later, 
both  disappeared,  and  no  one  could  tell 
me  in  what  direction  they  had  gone. 

"  I  had  only  one  object,  one  de-sire — 
to  revenge  myself  on  Don  Pucheco.  So 
soon  as  I  was  sufficiently  recovered  to 
leave  the  house,  1  sold  the  little  left  me, 
nd  quitted  Arispe  in  my  turn,  followed 
by  my  friends,  who  were  as  poor  as 
nyself,  for  the  blow  that  had  struck  me 
lad  struck  them  too,  and,  like  myself, 
they  only  desired  revenge  on  Don  Pa 
checo.  For  a  long  time  our  researches 
were  vain,  and  many  years  elapsed  ere 
[  grew  weary  of  seeking  their  trail. 
There  were  only  two  of  us  now  to  do 
.t,  for  the  third  had  left  us. 

"What  had  become  of  him?  I  do 
lot  know,  but  one  day,  by  chance,  at 
in  American  frontier  village  where  I 
lad  gone  to  sell  my  peltry,  Satan 
rought  me  face  to  face  with  this  friend, 
whom  I  never  expected  to  meet  again. 
He  wore  a  monk's  gown,  and  so  soon 
as  he  perceived  me,  walked  up  to  ine. 


130 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


The  first  words  he  addressed  to  me 
after  our  lengthened  separation  were  : 
"  *I  have  found  them  again.' 
"  I  understood  without  it  being  neces 
sary  for  him  to  make  any  further  ex 
planation,  for  my  hatred  had  taken  such 
deep  root  in  my  heart.  What  more 
shall  I  tell  you,  Nina  T1  he  added,  with 
an  effort,  while  a  fearful  smile  crisped 
his  blue  lips.  "  I  took  my  revenge. 
Oh  !  this  vengeance  was  long  in  coming, 
but  it  was  terrible !  .  .  .  Our  foe 
had  become  one  of  the  richest  hacien- 
dieros  in  Texas ;  he  lived  happily  with 
his  wife  and  children,  respected  and 
loved  by  all  who  surrounded  him.  I 
bought  a  farm  near  his,  and  then,  on 
the  watch,  like  a  jaguar  with  its  prey,  I 
followed  his  every  movement,  and*  in 
troduced  myself  into  his  house.  So 
lengthened  a  period  had  elapsed  since 
our  last  meeting,  that  he  did  not  recog 
nize  me,  although  a  foreboding  seemed 
from  the  outset  to  warn  him  that  I  was 
his  enemy, 

"  One  nigKt,  at  the  head  of  a  band  of 
Pirates  and  Apaches,  my  two  friends 
and  myself,  after  assuring  ourselves  that 
all  were  quietly  sleeping  in  Don  Pache- 
co's  hacienda,  glided  like  serpents 
through  the  darkness;  the  walls  were 
escaladed,  and  our  vengeance  began. 

"  The  hacienda  was  given  up  to  the 
flames ;  Don  Pacheco  and  his  wife,  sur 
prised  in  their  sleep,  were  pitilessly 
massacred,  after  undergoing  atrocious 
tortures.  I  tore  both  yourself  and  your 
sister  from  the  arms  of  your  dying 
mother,  who  sobbed  at  our  feet,  implor 
ing  me  to  spare  you  in  memory  of  my 
old  love  for  her. 

"I  swore  it,  and  kept  my  promise. 
I  do  not  know  what  became  of  your  sis 
ter;  I  did  not  even  trouble  myself 
about  her.  As  for  you,  Nina,  have  you 
had  ever  any  cause  to  reproach  me  ?" 

The  girl  had  listened  to  this  fearful 
revelation  with  frowning  eyebrows  and 
livid  cheeks.  When  the  bandit  stopped, 
she  said  harshly  : 

"  Then  you  are  the  murderer  of  my 
father  and  mother  ?" 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "but  not  alone; 
there  were  three  of  us,  and  we  took  our 
revenge." 


"  Wretch !"  she  burst  forth ;  "  vite 
assassin !" 

The  girl  uttered  these  words  with 
such  an  implacable  accent,  that  the  ban 
dit  shuddered. 

"  Ah !"  he  said,  "  I  recognize  the 
lioness.  You  are  truly  my  enemy's 
daughter.  Courage,  child,  courage.  As 
sassinate  me  in  your  turn.  \V  hat  re 
strains  you  ?  Rob  me  of  the  short  span 
of  life  still  left  me,  but  make  haste,  or 
Heaven  will  prevent  your  vengeance." 

And  he  fixed  on  her  his  eye,  which 
was  still  proud,  but  already  clouded  by 
the  hand  of  death. 

The  girl  gave  no  answer. 

"  You  prefer  seeing  me  die ;  well,  re 
ceive  this  last  present,"  he  said,  pluck 
ing  from  his  bosom  a  bag,  suspended 
from  a  steel  chain  ;  "  in  it  you  will  find 
two  letters,  one  from  your  father,  the 
other  from  your  mother ;  you  will  learn 
who  you  are,  and  what  name  you  should 
bear  in  the  world,  for  the  one  I  mei>- 
tioned  is  false ;  I  wished  to  deceive  you 
to  the  end.  That  name  is  my  last  ven 
geance.  .  .  .  Nina,  you  will  re 
member  me." 

The  girl  bounded  on  to  the  bag  and 
seized  it. 

"Now,  good-bye,"  the  Pirate  said; 
my    work   is    accomplished    on    this 
earth." 

And  seizing  the  pistol  Red  Cedar  had 
left  him,  he  blew  out  his  brains,  fixing 
on  the  girl  a  glance  of  strange  meaning. 
But  she  did  not  seem  to  notice  this 
ragical  end,  for  she  was  tearing  the  bag 
with  her  teeth.  When  she  succeeded 
n  opening  it,  she  unfolded  the  papers  it 
contained,  and  hurriedly  perused  them. 
Suddenly  she  uttered  a  shriek  of  des 
pair,  and  fell  back,  clutching  the  letters 
n  her  hand. 

The  Indians  and  Pirates  ran  up  to 
lelp  her,  but,  quicker  than  lightning,  a 
lorsernan  darted  from  the  chapparal, 
reaching  the  girl  without  checking  the 
speed  of  his  horse ;  he  bent  down,  raised 
ler  up  in  his  powerful  arms,  threw  her 
across  his  saddle-bow,  and  passed  like  a 
rornado  through  the  astoundedspectators. 
"  We  shall  meet  again  soon,  Red 
Cedar,"  he  said  in  a  loud  voice,  as  he 
>ussed  the  squatter. 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


131 


Before  the  latter  and  his  comrades 
could  recover  from  their  surprise,  the 
horseman  had  disappeared  in  the  dis 
tance  in  a  cloud  of  dust. 

The  horseman  was  Bloodson  ! 

Red  Cedar  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"  Can  what  the  priests  say  be  true.  T' 
he  muttered  j  "  is  there  really  a  Provi 
dence  I" 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE  RIVALS. 

AFTER  the  tragic  execution  of  the  Pi 
rate,  the  hunters  slowly  continued  their 
journey. 

The  scenes  we  have  described  in  pre 
vious  chapters  had  spread  over  them  a 
gloom  which  nothing  could  dissipate. 

Since  his  daughter's  disappearance, 
Don  Miguel  Zarate,  who  had  been  sud 
denly  hurledfrom  the  height  of  his  hopes, 
maintained  a  gloomy  and  stern  silence. 

This  man,  so  strong  and  energetic, 
at  length  conquered  by  misfortune, 
marched  silently  by  the  side  of  his  com 
rades,  who  respected  his  grief,  and  of 
fered  him  those  little  attentions  to  which 
suffering  minds  are  so  sensitive. 

Valentine  and  General  ibanez  were 
holding  an  animated  conversation,  the 
two  Indians,  Curumilla  and  Moukapec, 
going  in  front  and  serving  as  guides. 

Don  Pablo  and  Ellen  rode  side  by 
side ;  they  alone  of  the  small  party 
seemed  happy,  and  a  smile  now  and 
then  played  over  their  faces.  Alone  of 
the  little  band  the  two  young  people 
had  the  faculty  of  forgetting  past  suf 
ferings  through  the  present  joy. 

During  SandovaPs  execution  Ellen 
had  been  kept  aloof,  hence  she  was  ig 
norant  of  what  had  occu  rred ;  and  no- 
thing  happened  to  dull  the  pleasure  she 
experienced  at  seeing  herself  reunited 
to  the  man  to  whom  she  had  mentally 
given  her  heart. 

One  of  the  privileges  of  love  is  for 
getting  ;  the  two  young  people,  absorb 
ed  in  their  passion,  remembered  no 
thing,  but  the  happiness  of  meeting  a- 
gain.  The  word  "love"  had  not  been 
uttered  ;  still,  it  was  so  fully  reflected  in 


their  glances  and  smiles,  that  they  un 
derstood  each  other  perfectly. 

Ellen  was  describing  to  Don  Pablo 
how  Dona  Clara  and  herself  escaped 
from  Red  Cedar's  camp,  protected  by 
the  two  Canadian  hunters. 

"  Ah  !"  Don  Pablo  said,  "  talking  of 
those  hunters,  what  has  become  of 
them  ?" 

"  Alas  !"  Ellen  replied,  "  one  of  them 
was  killed  by  the  Apaches,  and  the  oth- 

"  Well  and  the  other  ?  " 

"  There  he  is,"  she  said  ;  "  oh,  he  ia 
devoted  to  me  body  and  soul." 

Don  Pablo  turned  round  with  an  ai> 
gry  movement,  and  a  dull  jealousy  was 
inflamed  in  him.  He  looked  at  the  hun 
ter  who  rode  a  few  paces  in  the  rear, 
but  at  the  sight  of  this  open,  honest  face, 
over  which  a  tinge  of  melancholy  was 
spread,  the  young  man  seriously  upbrai 
ded  himself  for  his  apprehensions.  He 
quickly  went  up  to  the  hunter,  while  El 
len  regarded  them  with  a  smile;  when 
he  was  at  the  Canadian's  side,  he  offer 
ed  him  his  hand. 

"Thanks,"  he  said  to  him  simply, 
"for  what  you  did  for  her." 

Harry  pressed  the  hand,  and  answer 
ed  sadly  but  nobly  : 

"I  did  my  duty;  I  swore  to  defend  her 
and  die  for  her  :  when  the  hour  arrives, 
I  will  keep  my  oath." 

Don  Pablo  smiled  gracefully, 

"  Why  do  you  not  ride  by  our  side  ?  " 

"  No,"  Harry  answered  with  a  sigh,  us 
he  shook  his  head  ;  "  I  ought  not,  and  do 
not  wish  to  be  the  third  in  your  conver 
sation.  You  love  each  other,  and  bo 
happy.  It  is  my  duty  to  watch  over 
your  happiness ;  leave  me  in  my  plac* 
and  remain  in  yours." 

Don  Pablo  thought  for  a  moment 
over  these  words,  then  pressed  the 
hunter's  hand  a  second  time. 

"  You  have  a  noble  heart,"  he  said  to 
him ;  "  I  understand  you ;"  and  he  re 
joined  his  companion. 

A  smile  played  round  the  hunter's 
pallid  lips. 

"  Yes,"  he  muttered  so  soon  as  luj 
was  alone ;  "  yes,  I  love  her.  Poor 
Ellen  !  she  will  be  happy,  and  if  so, 
what  matter  what  becomes  of  ine  ?" 

He    then   reassumed   his   indifferent 


132 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


look  ;  but  at  times  he  gazed  with  a 
feeling  of  sorrowful  pleasure  on  the 
y.oung  people  who  had  renewed  their 
conversation. 

"  Is  he  not  a  glorious  fellow  ?"  Ellen 
said  ]to  the  young  man  as  he  pointed  to 
the  hunter. 

"  I  think  so." 

;<  And  I  have  been  certain  of  it  for  a 
long  time.  Harry  watches  over  me  ;  I 
have  always  found  him  at  my  side  in 
the  hour  of  danger :  to  follow  me  he 
has  abandoned  everything,  country, 
friends,  family,  without  hesitation  or  re 
flection,  and  has  done  it  without  any 
hope  of  ever  being  rewarded  for  such 
abnegation  and  devotion." 

Don  Pablo  sighed. 

**  You  love  him,"  he  murmured. 

The  maiden  smiled. 

"  If  you  mean  by  those  words  that  I 
place  an  unbounded  confidence  in  him, 
that  I  feel  a  sincere  and  deep  affection 
for  him,  in  that  sense,  yes,  I  do  love 
him." 

Don  Pablo  shook  his  head. 

'*  That  is  not  what  I  mean,"  he  said. 

She  gazed  on  him  fixedly,  and  re 
mained  silent  for  some  minutes,  the 
Mexican  not  daring  to  question  her. 
At  length  she  turned  to  him,  and  laid 
her  hand  on  his  shoulder ;  at  this  touch 
the  young  man  started,  and  quickly 
raised  his  head. 

"  Listen,  Don  Pablo,"  she  said,  in 
her  clear  and  harmonious  voice. 

"  I  am  listening,"  he  answered. 

"Accident  one  day  brought  us  to 
gether,"  she  continued,  with  a  sort  of 
feverish  animation,  "  under  extraordi 
nary  circumstance.  On  seeing  you,  I 
felt  a  sensation  at  once  sweet  and  pain 
ful  :  my  heart  contracted,  and  when, 
after  defying  my  brothers,  you  set  off, 
1  looked  after  you  so  long  as  I  could 
perceive  you  through  the  trees.  At 
length  I  returned  dreamily  to  our  cabin, 
for  I  felt  that  my  fate  was  decided ; 
your  words  echoed  in  my  ears,  your 
image  was  in  my  heart,  and  yet  you 
had  appeared  to  me  as  an  enemy :  the 
words  you  uttered  in  my  presence  were 
threats.  Whence  arose  the  strange 
emotion  that  agitated  me  ?" 

She  stopped. 


"  Oh,  you  loved  me !"  the  young 
man  exclaimed  impetuously. 

"  Yes,  did  I  not  ?"  she  continued. 
"  It  is  what  is  called  love,"  she  added, 
in  a  quivering  voice,  while  two  tears 
fell  from  her  long  lashes  and  coursed 
down  her  pale  cheeks ;  "  in  what  will 
that  love  result  ?  The  daughter  of  a 
proscribed  race,  I  am  not  so  much  your 
friend  as  your  prisoner,  or,  a-t  anyJ 
rate,  your  hostage.  I  inspire  your 
comrade  with  contempt,  perhaps  with 
hatred  ;  for  1  am  the  daughter  of  their 
implacable  foe — of  the  man  whom  they 
have  sworn  to  sacrifice  to  their  ven 
geance." 

Don  Pablo  bowed  his  head,  with  a 
sigh. 

"  What  I  say  is  true,  is  it  not1?"  she 
continued  :  "  you  are  forced  to  allow 
it." 

"  Oh,  I  will  protect — I  will  save 
you,"  he  exclaimed  impetuously. 

"  No,"  she   said   firmly  ;  "  no,  Don 
Pablo,  for  you  must  defend  me  against  - 
your  own  father ;  you  would   not   dara 
do  it ;  and  if  you  did,"  she  added,  with 
a  flashing  eye,  "  1  would  not  suffer  it." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence :  then 
Ellen  continued  : 

"  Leave  me  to  accomplish  my  des 
tiny,  Don  Pablo ;  renounce  this  love, 
which  can  have  only  one  result — our 
mutual  wretchedness  :  forget  me  !" 

"  Never,"  he  exclaimed  ;  "  never  !  I 
love  you,  Ellen,  so  greatly  as  to  sacri 
fice  all  for  you — my  life,  if  you  order 
it." 

"  And  I,"  she  replied — "  'do  you  fan 
cy  that  I  do  not  love  you? — have  I 
not  given  you  sufficient  proof  of  that 
love? — I  who  betrayed  my  father  for 
your  sake.  But  you  see,  1  am  strong  ; 
imitate  me,  and  do  not  enter  on  a  mad 
struggle." 

"  Whatever  happens,  I  shall  ever 
love  you.  Ellen  !  what  do  I  care  fbr 
your  family  !  Children  are  not  respon 
sible  for  the  faults  of  their  parents. 
You  are  noble,  you  are  holy :  I  love 
you,  Ellen,  I  love  you  !" 

"  And  do  you  think  I  doubt  it  ?"  she 
replied.  "  Yes,  you  love  me,  Do  i  ru- 
blo  ;  1  know  it ;  I  am  sure  of  it ;  and, 
shall  I  confess  it?  this  love,  which 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


133 


causes  my  despair,  renders  me  at  the 
same  time  happy.  Well,  you  must 
forget  me;  it  must  be  so." 

"  Never,"  he  repeated  wildly. 

"  Listen,  Don  Pablo  ;  you  and  your 
comrades  are  on  my  father's  trail  ;  if, 
as  is  almost  certain,  you  find  him,  noth 
ing  will  save  him,  neither  tears  nor  en 
treaties,  but  you  will  kill  him." 

"  Alas  !''  the  young  man  murmured. 

"  You  understand,"  she  said,  with 
great  agitation,  "  that  I  cannot  be  an 
unmoved  witness  of  the  death  of  the 
man  to  whom  I  owe  my  life.  This 
man,  whom  you  hate,  on  whom  you  wish 
to  revenge  yourself,  is  my  father ;  he 
has  always  been  kind  to  me.  Be  mer 
ciful,  Don  Pablo !" 

" Speak,  Ellen;  whatever  you  may 
a**k  I  will  swear  to  do." 

Ellen  fixed  on  him  a  glance  of  strange 
meaning. 

"  Is  it  true  ?  Can  I  really  trust  to 
your  word  ?"  she  said,  with  marked 
hesitation. 

"  Order,  and  I  will  obey." 

"This  evening,  when  we  reach  the 
spot  where  we  are  to  bivouac,  when 
your  comrades  are  asleep " 

"Well1?"  he  said,  seeing  that  she 
stopped. 

"  Let  me  fly,  Don  Pablo,  I  implore 
you." 

"  Oh,  my  poor  child,"  he  exclaimed ; 
"  let  you  fly  !  But  what  will  become 
of  you  alone,  and  lost  in  this  desert  1" 

"  Heaven  will  guard  me." 

"  Alas  !  it  is  death  that  you  ask." 

"  What  matter,  if  I  have  done  my 
duty." 

"  Your  duty,  Ellen  ?" 

"  Must  1  not  save  my  father  ?" 

Don  Pablo  made  no  reply. 

"  You  hesitate — you  refuse,"  she 
said,  bitterly. 

"  No,"  he  answered.  "  You  ask,  and 
your  will  shall  be  accomplished ;  you 
shall  go." 

"  Thanks,"  she  said,  joyfully,  as  she 
offered  the  young  man  her  hand,  which 
he  pressed  to  his  lips. 

"  And  now,"  she  said,  "  one  last  ser 
vice." 

"  Speak,  Ellet,. 

She  drew  a  small  box  from  her  bo 
som  and  handed  it  to  her  companion. 


"  Take  this  box,"  she  continued.  "  I 
know  not  what  it  contains ;  but  I  took 
it  from  my  father  before  escaping  from 
his  camp  with  your  sister.  Keep  it  pre 
ciously,  in  order  that,  if  Heaven  allovir 
us  ever  to  meet  again,  you  may  restore 
it  to  me." 

"  I  promise  it." 

"  Now,  Don  Pablo,  whatever  may 
happen,  know  that  I  love  you,  and  thai 
your  name  will  be  the  last  word  that 
passes  my  lips." 

"Oh!  let  me  believe,  let  me  hope 
that  one  day  perhaps " 

"  Never  !"  she  exclaimed,  in  her  turn, 
with  an  accent  impossible  to  describe. 
"  However  great  my  love  may  be,  my 
father's  blood  will  separate  us  eter 
nally." 

The  young  man  bowed  his  head  in 
despair  at  these  words — a  gloomy  male 
diction,  which  enabled  him  to  measure 
the  depth  of  the  abyss  into  which  he  had 
fallen. 

They  continued  their  journey  silently, 
side  by  side. 

The  Sachem  of  the  Coras,  as  we  said, 
acted  as  guide  to  the  little  party.  On 
reaching  a  spot  where  the  path  he  fol 
lowed  took  a  sudden  bend  in  the  river 
bank,  he  stopped,  and  imitated  the  cry 
of  the  jay. 

At  this  signal,  Valentine  dug  his  spurs 
into  his  horse  and  galloped  up  to  him. 

"  Is  there  anything  new  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Nothing,  except  that  in  a  few 
minutes  we  shall  be  opposite  the  islet 
where  Red  Cedar  established  his  camp." 

"  Ah,  ah  !"  said  Valentine ;  "  in  that 
case  we  will  halt." 

The  hunters  dismounted,  and  con 
cealed  themselves  in  the  shrubs;  the 
ntmost  silence  prevailed  on  the  river 
bank. 

"  Hum  1"  Valentine  muttered ;  "  I 
believe  the  bird  has  flown." 

"  We  shall  soon  know,"  Eagle-wing 
replied. 

Then,  with  that  prudence  characteris 
tic  of  the  men  of  his  race,  he  stepped 
cautiously  from  tree  to  tree,  and  soon 
disappeared  from  his  comrades'  sight. 

The  latter  awaited  him  motionless, 
and  with  their  eyes  fixed  on  the  spot 
where  he  had  vanished,  as  it  were. 
They  had  long  to  wait,  but  at  the  end 


134 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


of  an  hour  a  slight  rustling  was  audible 
ki  the  shrubs,  and  the  Indian  rose  before 
them.  It  was  easy  to  see  that  he  had 
emerged  from  the  water,  for  his  clothes 
were  dripping. 

"  Well  ?"  said  Valentine. 

"  Gone !" 

"All?" 

"All." 

"How  long?" 

"  Two  days  at  least !  the  lires  are 
cold." 

"  I  suspected  it,"  said  the  hunter,  as 
if  speaking  to  himself. 

"  Oh  !"  Don  Miguel  exclaimed,  "  this 
demon  will  constantly  escape  us." 

"  Patience,"  Valentine  replied.  "  Un 
less  he  has  glided  through  the  river  like 
a  fish,  or  risen  in  the  air  like  a  bird,  we 
shall  find  his  trail  again — 1  swear  it." 

"But  what  shall  we  do?" 

"  Wait,"  said  the  hunter.  "  It  is 
late,  we  will  pass  the  night  here;  to 
morrow,  at  daybreak,  we  will  start  in 
pursuit  of  our  enemy." 

Don  Miguel  sighed,  and  made  no  an 
swer. 

The  preparations  for  a  hunter's  biv 
ouac  are  not  lengthy. 

Harry  and  Eagle-wing  lit  a  fire,  un 
saddled  and  hobbled  the  horses,  and  then 
the  supper  was  got  ready.  With  the 
exception  of  Don  Miguel  and  his  son, 
who  ate  but  little,  though  for  different 
reasons,  the  hunters  did  honor  to  the 
frugal  meal,  which  the  fatigues  of  the 
day  caused  them  to  find  delicious. 

So  soon  as  the  supper  was  over,  Val 
entine  threw  his  rifle  on  his  shoulder, 
aud  gave  Curumilla  a  sign  to  follow 
him. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?"  Don  Miguel 
asked. 

"  To  the  isle  where  the  gambusinos' 
oamp  was." 

"1  will  go  with  you." 

"  Hang  it  all !  and  so  will  I,"  said  the 
general. 

"  Very  good." 

The  four  men  set  out,  and  only  Don 
Pablo,  Ellen,  the  Chief  of  the  Coras,  and 
Harry  were  left  in  the  encampment. 

So  soon  as  the  footsteps  of  the  hun 
ters  had  died  out  in  the  distance,  Ellen 
turned  to  Don  Pablo. 

"  The  time  has  arrived,"  she  said. 


The  Mexican  could  not  repress  a 
nervous  start. 

"You  wish  it?"  he  answered  her, 
sadly.  -» 

"  It  must  be,"  she  continued,  stifling 
a  sigh. 

She  rose  and  walked  up  to  Harry. 

"  Brother,  I  am  going,"  she  said. 

"  It  is  well,"  the  hunter  replied. 

Without  any  further  explanation,  he 
saddled  two  horses,  aud  waited  with  ap 
parent  indifference. 

Moukapec  slept,  or  feigned  to  sleep. 

Ellen  offered  her  hand  to  Don  Pablo, 
and  said,  in  a  trembling  voice : 

"  Farewell !" 

'•  Oh !"  the  young  man  exclaimed, 
"remain,  Ellen,  1  implore  you  !" 

The  squatter's  daughter  shook  ht*r 
head  sadly. 

"  I  must  rejoin  my  father,"  she  mui*- 
mured  ;  "  Don  Pablo,  let  me  go." 

"Ellen!  Ellen!" 

"Farewell,' Don  Pablo!" 

"  Oh  !:>  he  said,  in  his  despair,  "caa 
nothing  move  you?" 

The  maiden's  face  was  inundated  witk 
tears,  and  her  bosom  heaved. 

"  Ungrateful  man,"  she  said,  with  au 
accent  of  bitter  reproach,  "  he  does  not 
understand  how  much  I  love  him." 

Don  Pablo  made  a  final  effort;  ha 
overcame  his  grief,  and  said,  in  a  stam 
mering  voice : 

"  Go,  then,  and  may  Heaven  protect 
you  !" 

"  Farewell !" 

"  Oh  !  not  farewell — we  shall  meefc 
again." 

The  girl  shook  her  head  sadly,  and 
leaped  on  the  horse  the  Canadian  held 
ready  for  her. 

"  Harry,"  said  Don  Pablo,  "  watch 
over  her." 

"  As  over  my  sister,"  the  Canadian 
answered,  in  a  deep  voice. 

Ellen  gave  a  parting  signal  of  faru- 
well  to  Don  Pablo,  and  loosened  the 
bridle. 

The  young  man  fell  on  the  ground  in 
despair. 

'•Oh  !  all  my  happiness  has  fled  me  !" 
he  muttered,  in  a  broken  voice. 

Moukapec  had  not  made  a  move ;  hit* 
sleep  must  have  been  very  sound. 

Two  hours  later,  Valentine  and   his 


THE    PIRATES    OP    THE    PRAIRIES. 


135 


friends  returned  from  their  trip  to  the 
island,  and  Don  Miguel  at  once  noticed 
the  absence  of  the  squatter's  daughter. 
^Where  is  Ellen  ?"  he  asked,  quickly. 

"  Gone  !"  Don  Pablo  muttered. 

"And  you  allowed  her  to  fly  ?"  the 
hacienclero  exclaimed. 

"  She  was  not  a  prisoner,  hence  I  had 
no  right  to  oppose  her  departure." 

"  And  the  Canadian  hunter  V> 

"  Gone  too." 

"  Oh  !"  Don  Miguel  exclaimed,  "  we 
must  start  in  pursuit  of  them  without 
the  loss  of  a  moment." 

A  shudder  of  terror  and  joy  ran  over 
the  young  man's  body,  as  he  turned  pale 
at  this  proposition. 

Valentine  gave  him  a  searching 
glance,  and  then  laid  his  hand  on  his 
friend's  shoulder. 

"  We  will  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  he 
said,  with  a  meaning  smile  ;  "  on  the 
contrary,  we  will  allow  Red  Cedar's 
daughter  to  withdraw  unimpeded." 

"  But "  Don  Miguel  objected. 

Valentine  bent  down  and  whispered  a 
few  words  in  his  ear.  The  haciendero 
started. 

"You  are  right,"  he  muttered. 

"  Now,"  the  hunter  went  on,  "  let  us 
sleep,  for  I  promise  you  a  hard  day's 
work  to-morrow." 

Every  one  seemed  to  acknowledge 
the  justice  of  this  remark,  and  scarce  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  after  it  had  been 
made,  the  hunters  were  lying  asleep 
round  the  fire. 

Curumilla  alone  was  leaning  against 
a  larch  tree,  of  which  he  seemed  to  form 
part,  watching  over  the  common  safety. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

FRAY    AMBRO8IO. 

WE  will  now  return^to  the  gambu- 
sinos. 

Sutler  and  Nathan  had  not  said  a 
vrord  to  their  brother ;  while  he,  for  his 
part,  did  not  appear  to  have  recognized 
them.  When  all  were  preparing  to 
sleep,  Shaw  also  laid  himself  on  the 
ground,  while  imperceptibly  approach 
ing  Dona  Clara. 


The  maiden,  with  her  head  buried  in 
her  hands,  and  her  elbows  supported  on 
her  knees,  was  weeping  silently.  These 
tears  broke  Shaw's  heart,  and  he  would 
have  laid  down  his  life  to  stop  their 
flow. 

In  the  meanwhile,  the  night  grew 
more  and  more  dark  ;  the  moon,  veiled 
by  thick  clouds  which  passed  incessant 
ly  over  its  pale  disc,  only  cast  forth  dim 
rays,  too  weak  to  pierce  the  dome  of 
foliage  under  which  the  gambusinos  had 
sought  shelter. 

Shaw,  reassured  by  the  complete  im 
mobility  of  his  comrades  and  the  mourn 
ful  silence  that  brooded  over  the  clear 
ing,  ventured  slightly  to  touch  the 
young  lady's  arm. 

"  What  do  you  want  with  me  ?"  she 
asked  in  a  mournful  voice. 

"  Speak  low,"  he  replied ;  "  in  Hea 
ven's  name,  speak  low,  senora,  or  one 
of  the  men  lying  there  may  overhear 
us.  These  villains  have  so  fine  an  e'ar, 
that  the  slightest  sighing  of  the  wind 
through  the  leaves  is  sufficient  to  awake 
them  and  put  them  on  their  guard." 

"  Why  should  I  care  whether  they 
awake?"  she  continued,  reproachfully  ; 
"  thanks  to  you,  in  whom  I  trusted, 
have  I  not  fallen  into  their  hands 
again  ?" 

"  Oh  !"  he  said,  writhing  his  hands  in 
despair,  "  you  cannot  believe  me  capa 
ble  of  such  odious  treachery." 

"  Still,  you  see  where  we  are." 

"  Alas !  1  am  not  to  blame  for  it ; 
fatality  has  done  it  all." 

An  incredulous  smile  hovered  round 
the  maiden's  pallid  lips. 

"  Have  at  least  the  courage  to  defend 
your  bad  deed,  and  confess  you  are  a 
bandit  like  the  men  sleeping  there. 
Oh,"  she  added,  bitterly,  "  I  have  no 
right  to  reproach  you;  on  the  contrary, 
I  ought  to  admire  you;  for  though  you 
are  still  very  young,  you  have  display 
ed,  under  present  circumstances,  a  de 
gree  of  skill  and  cunning  1  was  far  from 
suspecting  in  you :  you  have  played 
your  part  with  consummate  talent." 

Each  of  these  cruel  words  entered 
the  unhappy  young  man's  heart  like  n 
dagger,  and  made  him  endure  atrocious 
iorture. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  sadly,  "  appearances 


136 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


are  against  me  ;  in  vain  should  I  try  to 
persuade  you  of  my  innocence,  for  you 
would  not  believe  me ;  and  yet 
Heaven  is  my  witness  that  I  attempted 
all  it  was  humanly  possible  to  do,  in  or 
der  to  save  you." 

"  You  were  very  unfortunate  then, 
sir,"  she  continued  sarcastically  ;  "  for 
it  must  be  allowed  that  all  these  at 
tempts  of  which  you  boast  strangely 
turned  against  you." 

Shaw  uttered  a  deep  sigh. 

"  Good  Heaven  !"  he  said,  "  what 
proof  can  I  give  you  of  my  devotion  T' 

"  None,"  she  replied  coldly. 

"Oh!  madam." 

"Sir,"  she  interrupted  him  in  a  firm 
and  ironical  voice,  "  spare  me,  I  beg  of 
you,  your  lamentations,  in  whose  sin 
cerity  I  cannot  believe,  as  there  are  too 
many  undeniable  proofs  against  you  ; 
even  more  odious  than  treachery  are 
the  hypocritical  protestations  of  a 
traitor.  You  have  succeeded,  so  what 
more  do  you  want?  Enjoy  your 
triumph.  1  repeat  to  you  that  I  do  not 
reproach  you,  for  you  have  acted  as 
your  instincts  and  training  urged  you 
to  do ;  you  have  been  true  to  your 
self  and  faithful  to  your  antecedents: 
I  need  say  no  more.  Now,  if  I  may  be 
allowed  to  ask  a  favor  of  you,  let  us 
break  off  a  conversation  no  longer  pos 
sessing  any  interest,  as  you  will  not 
succeed  in  destroying  my  impressions 
,  about  you :  imitate  the  example  of 
your  comrades,  and  let  me  indulge  in 
my  grief  without  any  obstacle." 

Shaw  thunderstruck  by  these  words, 
pronounced  in  a  tone  that  admitted  of 
no  reply;  he  saw  the  fearful  position 
he  was  in,  and  a  mad  fury  seized  on 
him. 

Dona  Clara  had  left  her  head  fall 
again  in  her  hands  and  was  weeping. 

The  young  man  felt  a  sob  choking 
him. 

"  Oh  !"  he  said,  "  what  pleasure  you 
tii^e  in  torturing  my  heart.  You  say 
1  betrayed  you,  I  who  loved  you  so  !" 

Dona  Clara  drew  herself  up,  haugh 
ty  and  implacable. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  ironically, 
"  you  love  me,  sir,  but  it  is  after  the 
iashion  of  wild  beasts,  that  carry  off 
th»4r  prey  to  their  den  to  rend  it  at 


their  pleasure  ;  yours  is  a  tiger's  love." 

Shaw  seized  her  arm  violently,  and 
looked  firmly  in  her  eyes. 

"  One  word  more,  one  insult  furth^, 
madam,"  he  gasped,  "and  I  stab  my 
self  at  your  feet:  when  you  see  my 
corpse  writhing  on  the  ground,  possibly 
you  may  then  believe  in  my  hino- 
cence." 

Dona  Clara,  surprised,  gazed  at  him 
fixedly. 

"  What  do  I  care  T'  she  then  said, 
coldly. 

"  Oh  !"  the  young  man  exclaimed  in 
his  despair,  "  you  shall  be  satisfied." 

And  with  a  movement  rapid  as 
thought,  he  drew  his  dagger. 

Suddenly  a  hand  was  roughly  laid  on 
his  arm ;  but  Dona  Clara  had  not  stirr 
ed. 

Shaw  turned  round. 

Fray  Ambrosio  was  standing  behind 
him,  smiling,  but  not  relaxing  his 
grasp. 

"  Let  me  go,"  the  young  man  said, 
in  a  hollow  voice. 

"  Not  so,  my  son,"  the  monk  said 
gently,  "  unless  you  first  promise  to 
give  up  your  homicidal  project." 

"  Do  you  not  see,"  Shaw  exclaimed 
passionately,  "  that  she  believes  me 
guilty  ?" 

"  It  must  be  so :  leave  it  to  me  to 
persuade  her  of  the  contrary." 

"  Oh  !  if  you  did  that !"  the  young 
man  muttered,  with  an  accent  of  doubt. 

"  I  will  do  it,  my  son,"  Fray  Am 
brosio  said,  still  smiling ;  "  but  you 
must  first  be  reasonable." 

Shaw  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then 
let  fall  the  weapon,  as  he  muttered  : 

"There  will  still  be  time." 

"  Excellently  reasoned,"  said  the 
monk.  "  Now,  sit  down,  and  let  us 
talk.  Trust  to  me :  the  Senora  ere 
long  will  not  feel  the  slightest  doubt 
about  your  innocence." 

During  this  ^cene  Dona  Clara  had 
remained  motionless  as  a  -statue  of 
grief,  apparently  taking  no  interest  in 
what  passed  between  the  two  men. 

"  This  young  man  has  told  you   the 

ferfeet  truth,"  he  said  ;   "it  is  u  justice 
take    pleasure   in    rendering  him.     I 
know  not  \\hat  cause  urged   him    to  act 
so,  but,  in  order  to  save  you,  he  acliiev- 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


137 


ed  impossibilities ;  holding  you  in  his 
arms,  he  fought  with  a  cloud  of  red 
skins  thirsting  for  his  blood.  When 
Heaven  sent  us  so  miraculously  to 
his  assistance,  he  was  about  to  suc 
cumb,  and  he  rolled  unconscious  under 
our  horses'  hoofs,  still  holding  against 
his  bleeding  breast  the  precious  bur 
then  which  had  doubtless  been  confided 
to  him,  and  from  which  he  had  sworn 
only  death  should  separate  him.  That 
is  the  real  truth,  madam:  I  swear  it 
on  my  honor." 

Dona  Clara  smiled  bitterly. 

"  Oh,"  she  answered,  "keep  these 
deceitful  and  useless  protestations  to 
yourself,  father ;  I  have  learned  to 
know  you  too,  thanks  be  to  Heaven,  for 
some  time  past,  and  am  aware  what 
faith  can  be  placed  in  your  word." 

The  monk  bit  his  lips  spitefully. 

"  Perhaps,  you  are  mistaken,  ma 
dam,"  he  answered,  with  a  humble 
bow,  "  and  too  readily  put  faith  in  false 
appearances." 

"  Very  false,  in  truth,"  the  girl  ex 
claimed,  "  since  your  conduct,  up  to 
this  day,  has  only  proved  their  correct 
ness." 

A  flash  shot  from  the  monk's  savage 
eye,  which  expired  as  soon  as  it  burst 
forth ;  he  composed  his  countenance, 
and  continued  with  immoveable  gentle 
ness  : 

"  You  judge  me  wrongly  too,  se- 
norita;  misfortune  renders  you  unjust. 
You  forget  that  I  owe  all  to  your 
father." 

"  It  is  not  I,  but  you,  who  have  for 
gotten  it,"  she  said,  sharply. 

"  And  who  tells  you,  madam,"  he 
said,  with  a  certain  degree  of  animation, 
"  that  if  I  am  in  the  ranks  of  your  ene 
mies,  it  is  not  to  serve  you  better  ?" 

"  Oh  !"  she  answered,  ironically  ;  "  it 
would  be  difficult  for  you  to  supply 
me  with  proofs  of  such  admirable  de 
votion." 

"  Not  so  much  as  you  suppose ;  I 
have  at  this  moment  one  at  my  service, 
which  you  cannot  doubt." 

"  And  that  proof  is  ?"  she  asked  with 
a  sneer. 

"This,  madam.  My  comrades  are 
asleep  ;  two  horses  have  been  tied  up 
bv  myself  fifty  paces  from  here  in  the 


forest ;  I  will  lead  you  to  them,  and 
guided  by  this  unhappy  young  man, 
who  is  devoted  to  you,  although  you 
have  deen  cruel  to  him,  after  the  perils 
to  which  he  has  exposed  himself  for 
your  sake — it  will  be  easy  for  you  to 
get  out  of  our  reach  in  a  few  hours,  and 
foil  any  pursuit.  That  is  the  proof,  ma- 
darn  ;  can  you  now  say  it  is  false  ?" 

"  And  who  will  guarantee  me,"  she 
replied,  "  that  this  feigned  solicitude  you 
take  in  me,  and  which,  I  fancy,  is  very- 
sudden,  does  not  conceal  a  new  snare  V9 

"Moments  are  precious,"  the  monk 
said  again,  still  imperturbable ;  "  every 
second  that  slips  away  is  a  chance  of 
safety  you  are  deprived  of.  I  will  no! 
argue  with  you,  but  limit  myself  to  say 
ing — of  what  use  would  it  be  to  me  to 
pretend  to  let  you  escape  T 

"  How  do  I  know  ?  Can  I  guess  the 
causes  on  which  you  act  ?" 

"  Very  good,  madam,  do  as  you  think 
proper;  but  Heaven  is  my  witness  that 
1  have  done  all  in  my  power  to  save 
you,  and  that  it  was  you  who  refused." 

The  monk  uttered  these  words  with 
such  an  accent  of  conviction,  that,  in 
spite  of  herself,  Dona  Clara  felt  her  sus 
picions  shaken. 

Fray  Ambrosio's  last  observation 
was  correct:  why  feign  to  let  her  es 
cape,  when  he  had  her  in  his  power  ? 

She  reflected  for  a  moment. 

"  Listen,"  she  said  to  him,  "  I  have 
sacrificed  my  life ;  I  know  not  if  you 
are  sincere ;  I  should  like  to  believe  so ; 
but  as  nothing  can  happen  to  me  worse 
than  what  threatens  me  here,  1  confide 
in  you;  lead  on,  therefore,  to  the  horses 
you  have  prepared  for  me,  and  I  shall 
soon  know  whether  your  intentions  are 
honest,  and  1  have  been  deceived  in  my 
opinion  of  you." 

A  furtive  smile  lit  up  the  monk's 
face,  and  he  uttered  a  sigh  of  satisfac 
tion. 

"Come,"  he  said,  "follow  me;  but 
walk  cautiously,  so  as  not  to  arouse  my 
comrades,  who  are  probably  not  so 
well  disposed  towards  you  as  1  am." 

Dona  Clara  and  Shaw  rose  and  noise 
lessly  followed  the  monk,  the  squatter's 
son  walking  before  the  maiden  and  re 
moving  all  the  obstacles  to  her  passage. 

The  darkness  was  thick,  hence  it  was 


188 


THE    PIRATES    OP    THE    PRAIRIES. 


difficult  to  walk  through  the  thickets, 
interlaced  as  they  were  with  creepers 
and  parasitical  plants. 

Dona  Clara  stumbled  at  every  step. 

At  the  expiration  of  half  an  hour, 
they  reached  the  skirt  of  the  forest, 
where  two  horses,  fastened  to  trees,  were 
quietly  nibbling  the  young  tree-shoots. 

"  Well !''  the  monk  said,  with  a  tri 
umphant  accent,  "do  you  believe  me 
now,  senora  1" 

"  I  am  not  saved  yet,"  she  sadly  an 
swered  ;  and  she  prepared  to  mount. 

Suddenly,  the  branches   and   shrubs 

were  violently  parted,  six  or  eight  men 

rushed   forward,   and    surrounded    the 

three,  ere  it  was  possible  for  them  to 

1  attempt  a  defence. 

Shaw,  however,  drew  a  pistol,  and 
prepared  to  sell  his  life  dearly. 

"Stop,  Shaw,"  Dona  Clara  said  to 
him,  gently ;  "  I  now  see  that  you  were 
faithful,  and  I  pardon  you.  Do  not  let 
yourself  be  uselessly  killed;  you  see 
that  it  would  be  madness  to  resist !" 

The  young  man  let  his  head  droop, 
and  returned  the  pistol  to  his  girdle. 

"  Hilloh !"  a  rough  voice  shouted, 
which  caused  the  fugitives  to  tremble, 
"  I  felt  sure  that  these  horses  belonged 
to  somebody.  Let  us  see  what  we  have 
here.  A  torch  here,  Orson,  to  have  a 
look  at  them." 

"  It  is  unnecessary,  Red  Cedar,  we 
are  friends." 

"  Friends,"  Red  Cedar  answered,  hesi 
tating,  for  it  was  really  he  ;  "  that  is 
possible ;  still,  1  would  sooner  be  con 
vinced  of  it.  Light  the  torch,  lad,  all 
the  same." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  during 
which  Orson  lit  a  branch  of  candlewood 
tree. 

"  Ah,  ah,"  the  squatter  said,  with  a 
grin ;  "  in  truth,  we  are  among  friends. 
But  where  the  deuce  were  you  going  at 
this  hour  of  the  night,  Senor  Padre?" 

"  We  were  returning  to  the  camp, 
after  a  ride,  in  which  we  have  lost  our 
way,"  the  monk  answered,  imperturb- 
ably. 

Red  Cedar  gave  him  a  suspicious 
glance 

"A  ride!"  he  growled  between  his 
teeth ;  "  it  is  a  singular  hour  for  that. 
But  there  is  Shaw.  You  are  welcome, 


my  boy,  though  I  little  expected  to  meet 
you,  especially  in  the  company  of  that 
charming  dove,"  he  added,  with  a  sar 
castic  smile. 

"  Yes,  it  is  I,  father,"  the  young  man 
answered  in  a  hollow  voice. 

"  Very  good  ;  presently  you  shall  tell 
me  what  has  become  of  you  for  so  long, 
but  this  is  not  the  moment.  Did  you 
not  say  that  your  caftnp  was  near  here, 
Senor  Padre  1  although,  may  the  devil 
twist  my  neck,  if  I  can  understand  how 
that  is,  as  I  was  going  to  seek  you  on 
the  isle  where  I  left  you." 

"  We  were  compelled  to  leave  it." 

"  All  right ;  we  have  no  time  to  lose 
in  chattering.  Lead  me  to  the  camp, 
my  master ;  at  a  later  date,  all  will  be 
cleared  up,  never  fear." 

Guided  by  the  monk,  and  followed 
by  the  Pirates,  who  had  Shaw  and  Dona 
Clara  in  their  midst,  Red  Cedar  entered 
the  forest. 

This  unforeseen  meeting  once  again 
robbed  the  poor  girl  of  a  speedy  deli 
verance. 

As  for  Fray  Ambrosio,  he  walked 
along  apparently  as  calmly  as  if  nothing 
extraordinary  had  happened  to  him. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE   TRAIL. 

THE  dawn  was  just  commencing  to 
overshadow  the  horizon  with  transient 
opaline  tints ;  a  few  stars  were  still 
glistening  in  the  dark  blue  sky.  The 
wild  beasts  were  leaving  their  watering- 
places,  and  slowly  retiring  to  their  dens, 
disturbing  at  intervals  the  solemn  si 
lence  of  the  desert  with  their  sinister 
howling. 

Valentine  opened  his  eyes,  looked 
around  him  anxiously,  and  after  employ 
ing  a  few  seconds  in  shaking  off  his 
drowsiness,  he  rose  slowly  and  awoke 
his  comrades,  who  were  still  sleeping, 
rolled  up  in  their  blankets. 

Soon,  the  whole  little  party  were  col 
lected  round  the  fire,  on  which  th •»  hun 
ter  had  thrown  a  few  armfuls  of  dry 
wood,  and  in  whose  brilliant  flames  th« 
breakfast  was  now  preparing. 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


139 


The  Mexicans,  with  their  eyes  fixed 
On  Valentine,  silently  awaited  his  ex 
planation,  for  they  guessed  that  he  had 
important  communications  to  make  to 
them.  But  their  expectations  were 
foiled,  at  least  for  the  present,  and  the 
Frenchman  remained  quite  silent. 

When  the  meal  was  ready,  Valentine 
made  his  comrades  a  signal  to  eat;  and 
for  some  twenty  minutes  no  other  sound 
could  be  heard  save  that  caused  by  the 
formidable  appetites  of  the  hunters. 
When  they  had  finished,  Valentine 
quietly  lit  his  Indian  pipe,  and  indicated 
to  his  companions  that  he  wished  to 
speak. 

All  turned  toward  him. 

"  My  friends,"  he  said,  in  his  sympa 
thetic  voice,  "  what  I  feared  has  hap 
pened.  Red  Cedar  has  left  his  island 
camp  ;  he  has,  if  I  am  not  mistaken, 
several  days'  start  of  us,  and  in  vain  did 
I  try  last  night  to  take  up  his  trail — it 
was  impossible.  Red  Cedar  is  a  villain, 
widowed  with  a  fortunately  far  from 
common  ferocity,  whose  destruction  we 
have  sworn,  and  I  hope  we  shall  keep 
our  word.  But  I  am  compelled  to  do 
him  the  justice  of  saying,  that  he  is  one 
of  the. most  experienced  hunters  in  the 
Far  West ;  and  no  one,  when  he  pleases, 
Cftn  more  cleverly  hide  his  own  trail, 
atid  discover  that  of  others.  We  are, 
therefore,  about  to  have  a  trial  of  pa 
tience  with  him,  for  he  has  learned  all 
the  stratagems  of  the  red-skins,  of  whom, 
I  am  not  ashamed,  to  say,  he  is  the  su 
perior  in  roguery." 

"  Alas  !"  Don  Miguel  muttered. 

"  I  have  sworn  to  restore  your 
daughter  to  you,  my  friend,"  Valen 
tine  continued,  "  with  the  help  of  hea 
ven.  I  shall  keep  my  oath,  but  I  am 
about  to  undertake  a  gigantic  task : 
hence  I  ask  of  you  all  the  most  perfect 
obedience.  Your  ignorance  of  the  de 
sert  might,  under  certain  circumstances, 
cause  us  serious  injury,  and  make  us 
lose  in  a  few  minutes  the  fruit  of 
lengthened  researches :  hence  I  ask  of 
your  friendship  that  you  will  let  your 
selves  be  entirely  guided  by  my  expe 
rience." 

"  My  friend,"  Don  Miguel  replied, 
with  an  accent  full  of  majesty,  "  what 
ever  you  may  order,  we  will  do  ;  for 


you  alone  can  successfully  carry  out 
the  difficult  enterprise  in  which  we  are 
engaged." 

"  Good  !  I  thank  you  for  the  obe 
dience  you  promise  me,  my  friend : 
without  it,  it  would  be  impossible  to 
succeed.  Now  leave  me  to  arrange 
with  the  Indian  chiefs." 

Valentine  rose,  made  a  sign  to  Curu- 
milla  and  Eagle-wing,  and  the  three  sat 
down  a  short  distance  off.  Valentine 
passed  his  calumet  to  the  Araucano, 
who  took  a  few  whiffs  and  then  handed 
it  to  Eagle-wing,  and  he,  after  smoking 
also,  returned  it  to  the  hunter. 

"My  brothers  know  why  I  have 
convened  them  in  council,"  Valentine 
said  presently. 

The  two  chiefs  bowed  in  reply. 

"  Very  good."  he  continued  ;  "  now 
what  is  the  advice  of  my  brother  ? 
Let  the  Sachem  of  the  Coras  speak 
first.  He  is  a  wise  chief,  whose  coun 
sels  can  only  be  good  for  us." 

"  Why  does  Koutonepi  ask  the  ad 
vice  of  his  red  brothers?"  he  said. 
"  Koutonepi  is  a  great  warrior  :  he  has 
the  eye  of  the  eagle,  the  scent  of  the 
dog,  the  courage  of  the  lion,  and  the 
prudence  of  the  serpent.  No  one  can 
discover  better  than  him  a  trail  lost  in 
the  sand  :  what  Koutonepi  does  is  well 
done  :  his  brothers  will  follow  him." 

"  Thanks,  chief,"  Valentine  contin 
ued  ;  "but  in  what  direction  should 
we  proceed  ?" 

"  Red  Cedar  is  the  friend  of  Stana- 
pat :  after  his  defeat  the  scalp-hunter 
will  have  sought  a  refuge  with  his 
friend." 

"  That  is  also  my  opinion,"  the  hun 
ter  remarked.  "  What  do  you  think, 
chief?"  he  said,  turning  to  Curumilla. 

The  Araucano  shook  his  head. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  Red  Cedar  loves 
gold." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Valentine  :  "  be 
sides,  the  Apaches  are  too  near  us.  You 
are  right,  chief:  we  must  therefore  pro 
ceed  northward  ?" 

Curumilla  nodded  an  assent. 

"  No  horses,"  he  said,  "  they  destroy 
a  trail." 

"  We  will  go  on  foot.  Have  you 
Red  Cedar's  measure?" 

Curumilla  fumbled   in  his  medicine- 


140 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


bag,  and  produced  an  old  worn  mocas 
sin. 

"  Oh  !"  Valentine  said  eagerly  ;  "  that 
is  better  still :  let  us  be  off  at  once." 
»  They  broke  up  the  conference. 

"  My  friends,"  the  hunter  said  to  the 
Mexicans,  "  this  is  what  we  have  re 
solved  on:  you  three,  alone,  will  be 
mounted.  Each  of  you  will  lead  one 
of  our  horses,  so  that  we  may  mount 
at  the  first  signal.  The  two  chiefs  and 
myself  will  march  on  foot,  in  order  to 
let  no  sign  escape  us.  You  will  keep 
two  hundred  yards  behind  us :  and  as 
I  noticed  that  there  are  at  this  moment 
a  great  many  trumpeter  swans  in  the 
river,  that  will  be  our  rallying  cry.  All 
this  is  arranged  ?" 

"  Yes,"  the  three  gentlemen  answered 
unanimously. 

"  Good  !  now  to  set  out,  and  try 
never  to  let  us  out  of  sight." 

"  Be  at  your  ease,  my  friend,  about 
that,"  the  general  said  ;  "  we  have  too 
great  an  interest  in  not  quitting  you. 
Canarios !  what  would  become  of  us 
alone,  lost  in  this  confounded  desert?" 

"  Come,  come,  something  tells  me 
that  we  shall  succeed,"  Valentine  said 
gaily,  "  so  we  will  have  courage." 

"  May  heaven  grant  you  are  not  mis 
taken,  my  friend,"  Don  Miguel  said 
sadly.  "  My  poor  child  !" 

"  We  will  deliver  her.  I  have  follow 
ed  a  more  difficult  trail  before  now." 

With  these  consolatory  words,  the 
two  Indians  and  the  hunter  set  out.  In 
stead  of  taking  Indian  file,  as  ordinarily 
adopted  on  the  prairie,  and  marching 
one  after  the  other,  they  spread  like  a 
i'an,  in  order  to  have  a  greater  space  to 
explore,  and  not  lose  the  slightest  indi 
cation.  So  soon  as  the  scouts  were  at 
the  arranged  distance,  the  Mexicans 
mounted  and  followed  them,  being  care 
ful  not  to  let  them  out  of  sight,  as  far 
as  was  possible. 

When  Valentine  told  Don  Miguel 
that  he  had  followed  more  difficult 
trails,  he  was  either  boasting,  or,  as  is 
more  probable,  judging  from  his  frank 
character,  he  wished  to  restore  hope  to 
his  friend. 

In  order  to  follow  a  trail,  it  must 
exist. 

Red  Cedar  was  too  old  a  wood-ranger 


to  neglect  the  slightest  precaution,  for 
lie  knew  too  well  that,  however  large 
the  desert  may  be,  a  man  habituated  to 
ross  it  always  Succeeds  in  finding  the 
man  he  is  pursuing. 

He  knew,  too,  that  he  was  followed 
by  the  most  experienced  hunter  of  the 
Far  West,  whom,  by  common  accord, 
white  and  half-breed  trappers,  and  the 
ed-skins  themselves,  had  surnamed 
'The  Trail-hunter."  Hence  he  sur 
passed  himself,  and  nothing  was  to  be 
seen. 

Although  Valentine  and  his  two  com 
rades  might  interrogate  the  desert,  it 
remained  dumb  and  indecypherable  as 
a  closed  book.  For  five  hours  they  had 
been  walking,  and  nothing  had  given  an 
embodiment  to  their  suspicions,  or 
proved  to  them  that  they  were  on  th« 
right  track. 

Still,  with  that  patience  which  char 
acterises  men  accustomed  to  prairie  life, 
whose  tenacity  no  word  can  ex 
press,  the  three  men  marched  on,  ad 
vancing,  step  by  step,  with  their  bodies 
bent,  their  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground, 
never  yielding  to  the  insurmountable 
difficulties  that  opposed  them,  but,  on 
the  contrary,  excited  by  these  very  dif 
ficulties,  which  proved  that  they  had  an 
adversary  worthy  of  them. 

Valentine  walked  in  the  centre,  with 
Curumilla  on  his  right  and  Eagle-wing 
on  his  left.  They  were  crossing  at  this 
moment  a  level  plain,  where  a  consider 
able  view  could  be  "enjoyed  ;  on  one 
side  stood  the  outposts  of  the  virgin 
forest,  on  the  other  was  the  Gila,  run 
ning  over  a  sand  bed.  On  reaching  the 
bank  of  a  small  stream,  obstructed  with 
shrubs,  Valentine  noticed  all  at  once 
that  two  or  three  small  branches  were 
broken  a  few  inches  from  the  ground. 

The  hunter  stopped,  and  in  order  to 
examine  more  closely,  lay  down  on  the 
ground,  carefully  regarding  the  fracture 
of  the  wood,  as  he  thrust  his  head  into 
the  copse.  Suddenly  he  started  up  on 
his  knees,  uttering  a  cry  of  joy. 

His  comrades  ran  up  to  him. 

"  Ah,  by  Heaven,"  Valentine  exclaim 
ed  ;  "  now  I  have  him.  Look,  look  !" 

And  he  showed  the  Indians  a  few 
horse's  hairs  he  held  in  his  hand. 

Curumillu  examined  them  attentively, 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


141 


while  Eaglewing,  without  saying  a  word, 
formed  a  dyke  across  the  bed  of  the 
stream,  which  was  only  a  few  yards  in 
width. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  say  to  that, 
chief1?"  Valentine  asked.  "Have  I 
guessed  it  ?" 

"  Wah,"  the  Indian  replied,  "  Kou- 
tonepi  has  good  eyes  ;  these  hairs  come 
from  Red  Cedar's  horse." 

"  I  noticed  that  the  horse  he  rode  was 
iron-grey." 

"  Yes  ;  but  it  halts." 

"  I  know  it,  with  the  off  fore-leg." 

At  this  moment  the  Coras  summoned 
them  :  he  had  turned  the  course  of  the 
stream,  and  the  traces  of  a  horse's  hoofs 
could  be  distinctly  traced  in  the  sand. 

"  Do  you  see  ?"  said  Valentine. 

"  Yes,"  Curumilla  remarked ;  "  but  he 
is  alone." 

"  Hang  it,  so  he  is." 

The  two  warriors  looked  at  him  in 
amazement. 

"  Listen,"  Valentine  said,  after  a  mo 
ment's  reflection,  "  this  is  a  false  trail. 
On  reaching  this  stream,  where  it  was 
impossible  for  him  not  to  leave  signs, 
Red  Cedar,  supposing  that  we  should 
look  for  them  in  the  water,  crossed  the 
stream  alone,  although  it  would  be  easy 
for  men  less  accustomed  to  the  desert 
than  ourselves  to  suppose  that  a  party 
had  crossed  here.  Look  down  there  on 
the  other  side,  at  a  horse's  marks.  Red 
Cedar  wanted  to  be  too  clever  ;  showing 
us  a  trail  at  all"  has  ruined  him.  The 
rest  of  the  band,  which  he  joined  again 
presently,  instead  of  crossing,  descended 
the  bed  of  the  stream  to  the  Gila,  where 
they  embarked  and  passed  to  the  other 
side  of  the  river." 

The  two  Indians,  on  hearing  this  clear 
explanation,  could  not  repress  a  cry  of 
admiration. 

Valentine  burst  the  dyke,  and  with 
their  help  formed  another  one  hundred 
yards  below,  a  short  distance  from  the 
Gila.  The  bed  of  the  stream  was  hard 
ly  dry,  ere  the  two  Indians  clapped  their 
hands,  while  uttering  exclamations  of 
delight. 

Valentine    had   guessed  aright :  this 
time  they  had  discovered  the  real  trail, 
for  the  bed  of  the  stream  had  been  tram 
pled  by  a  large  band  of  horses. 
9 


"  Oh,  oh,"  Valentine  said  ;  "  I  fancy 
we  are  on  the  right  road." 

He  then  imitated  the  cry  of  a  swan, 
and  the  Mexicans,  who  had  been  puzzled 
by  the  movements  of  the  hunters,  and 
were  anxious  to  hear  the  news,  galloped 
up. 

"  Well?"  Don  Miguel  shouted. 

"  Good  news,"  said  Valentine. 

"You  have  the  trail?"  the  general 
asked,  hurriedly. 

"  I  think  so,"  the  hunter  modestly  re 
plied. 

"  Oh  !"  said  Don  Pablo,  joyously  ; 
"in  that  case  we  shall  soon  catch  the 
villain." 

"  I  hope  so.  We  must  now  cross 
the  river ;  but  let  us  three  go  first." 

The  three  hunters  leaped  on  their  hor 
ses  and  crossed  the  river,  followed  at  a 
distance  by  the  others.  On  reaching 
the  other  side  of  the  Gila,  instead  of  as 
cending  the  bank,  they  followed  the  cur 
rent  for  some  distance,  carefully  exami 
ning  the  ground. 

"Ah!"  Valentine  suddenly  exclaim 
ed,  as  he  stopped  his  horse.  "  I  think 
the  men  we  are  pursuing  landed  here." 

"  That  is  the  place,"  said  Curumilla^, 
with  a  nod. 

"  Yes,"  Moukapec  confirmed  him  ;"  it 
is  easy  to  see." 

In  fact,  the  spot  was  admirably  adapt 
ed  for  landing  without  leaving  any  signs. 

The  bank  was  bordered  for  nearly 
one  hundred  yards  with  large  flat  rocks, 
shaped  like  tombstones,  where  the  hor 
ses  could  rest  their  hoofs  without  any 
fear  of  leaving  a  mark.  These  stones 
extended  for  a  considerable  distance  in 
to  the  plain,  and  thus  formed  a  species 
of  natural  highway,  nearly  half-a-niil&  V 
in  width. 

Still,  a  thing  had  happened  which  no 
one  could  have  foreseen,  and  which 
would  have  passed  unnoticed,  save  for 
Valentine's  watchful  eye.  One  of  the 
horses,  in  climbing  on  to  the  rock,  had 
miscalculated  Its  distance  and  slipped, 
so  that  an  almost  imperceptible  graze, 
left  by  its  hoof  on  the  stone,  showed  th» 
quick-sighted  hunter  where  the  party 
struck  the  bank. 

The  hunters  followed  the  same  road  ; 
but,  so  soon  as  they  had  landed,  the 
trail  disappeared  anew.  Although  the 


142 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


scouts  looked  around  with  the  most  mi 
nute  attention,  they  found  nothing  that 
would  indicate  to  them  the  road  follow 
ed  by  the  enemy  on  leaving  the  water. 

Valentine,  with  his  hands  resting  on 
the  muzzle  of  his  rifle,  was  thinking 
deeply,  at  one  moment  looking  on  the 
ground,  at  another  raising  his  eyes  to 
the  sky,  like  a  man  busied  with  the  so 
lution  of  a  problem  which  seems  to  him 
impossible,  when  suddenly  he  perceived 
a  white-headed  eagle  soaring  in  long  cir 
cles  over  a  mass  of  rocks,  situated  a  lit 
tle  to  the  right  of  the  spot  where  he 
was  standing. 

"  Hum,"  the  hunter  said  to  himself, 
as  he  watched  the  eagle,  whose  circles 
were  growing  gradually  smaller,  "  what 
is  the  matter  with  that  bird  1 1  am  cu 
rious  to  know." 

Summoning  his  two  comrades,  he 
threw  his  rifle  on  his  back,  and  hurried 
toward  the  spot  above  which  the  bird 
of  prey  still  continued  to  hover.  Val 
entine  imparted  to  the  Indians  the  sus 
picions  that  had  sprung  up  in  his  mind, 
and  the  three  men  began  painfullyclimb- 
ing  up  the  mass  of  rocks  strangely  piled 
up  one  on  the  other,  and  which  rose  like 
a  small  hill  in  the  middle  of  the  prairie. 

On  reaching  the  top  the  hunters  stop 
ped  to  pant ;  the  eagle,  startled  by  their 
unexpected  appearance,  had  flown  re 
luctantly  away.  They  found  themselves 
on  a  species  of  platform,  which  must  in- 
i'allibly  have  once  served  as  a  sepulchre 
to  some  renowned  Indian  warrior,  for 
several  shapeless  fragments  lay  here 
and  there,  near  a  rather  wide  cavity, 
some  ten  yards  in  width. 

Valentine  bent  over  the  edge  of  this 
hole,  but  the  obscurity  was  so  dense, 
owing  to  the  shape  of  the  cavity,  that  he 
could  perceive  nothing,  though  his  sense 
of  smell  was  most  disagreeably  assailed 
by  a  fetid  odor  of  decaying  flesh. 

"  Hilloa  !  what  is  this  ?"  he  asked. 

Without  speaking,  Curumilla  had  lit 
a  candle-wood  torch  which  he  handed 
the  hunter. 

Valentine  bent  over  again  and  looked 
in. 

«  Ah  !"  he  exclaimed,  «  Red  Cedar's 
horse — I  have  you  now,  my  fine  fellow  ! 
but  how  the  deuce  did  he  manage  to  get 


the  animal  up  here  without  leaving  any 
trail  r 

After  a  moment  he  added  : 

"  Oh,  what  a  goose  I  am  !  The 
horse  was  not  dead,  he  led  it  up  here, 
and  then  forced  it  into  the  hole.  By 
Jove  !  it  is  a  good  trick  :  I  must  con 
fess  that  Red  Cedar  is  a  very  remarka 
ble  rogue,  and  had  it  not  been  for  the 
eagle,  1  should  not  have  discovered  the 
road  he  took — but  now  I  have  him  ! 
were  he  ten  times  as  cunning  he  would 
not  escape  me." 

And,  all  delighted,  Valentine  rejoined 
the  Mexicans,  who  were  anxiously 
awaiting  the  result  of  his  researches. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

THE     HUNT. 

"  So,"  Don  Miguel  asked  the  hunter, 
"  you  believe,  my  friend,  that  we  are 
on  the  right  track,  and  that  the  villain 
cannot  escape  us." 

"I  am  convinced,"  Valentine  replied, 
"  that  we  have  followed  his  trail  up  to 
the  present.  As  for  assuring  you  that 
he  will  not  escape  us,  I  am  unable  K> 
say  that  ;  I  can  only  assert  that  1  shall 
discover  him." 

"  That  is  what  I  meant,"  the  hacien- 
dero  remarked,  with  a  sigh. 

They  started  once  more. 

The    prairie    became    more    broken, 
here  and  there  clumps  of  trees  diversi 
fied  the  landscape,  and  in  the  distance 
rose   hills,  the  first  spires  of  the  Sierra . 
Madre,  which  jagged   the  blue  horizon,  * 
and  undulated  the  soil. 

The  hunters  reached  at  about  an  h^ur 
before  sunset  the  first  trees  of  au  iinr 
metise  virgin  forest,  which  stretched  out 
like  a  curtain  of  verdure,  and  complete 
ly  hid  the  prairie  from  their  sight. 

"  Wah  !"  said  Curumilla,  suddenly 
stooping  and  picking  up  an  object  which 
he  handed  Valentine. 

"  Hilloah  !"  the  latter  exclaimed,  "  if 
I  am  not  mistaken,  it  is  Doria  Clara's 
cross." 

"  Give  it  me,  my  friend,"  Don  Miguel 
said,  hurried^  advancing. 


THE   PIRATES    OP    THE   PRAIRIES. 


143 


He  seized  the  article  the  hunter  hand 
ed  him ;  it  was,  in  truth,  a  small  dia 
mond  cross,  which  the  maiden  constant 
ly  wore. 

The  haciendero  raised  it  to  his  lips, 
with  a  joy  mingled  with  sorrow. 

"  Oh,  heavens !"  he  exclaimed,  "  what 
has  happened  to  my  poor  girl  ?" 

"Nothing,"  Valentine  replied;  "re 
assure  yourself,  my  friend.  The  chain 
has  probably  broken,  and  Dona  Clara 
lost  it— that  is  all." 

Don  Miguel  sighed,  two  tears  burst 
from  his  eyes,  but  he  did  not  utter  a 
word.  At  the  entrance  of  the  forest 
Valentine  halted. 

"  It  is  not  prudent,"  he  said,  "  to  go 
among  these  large  trees  by  night ;  per 
haps  those  we  seek  may  be  waiting 
here  to  attack  us  under  covert.  If  you 
will  listen  to  me,  we  will  bivouac  here." 

No  one  objected  to  this  proposal,  and 
consequently  the  encampment  was 
formed.  Night  had  completely  set  in, 
and  the  hunters,  after  eating  their  sup 
per,  had  rolled  themselves  up  in  their 
blankets,  and  were  sleeping.  Valentine, 
CurumilJa,  and  Eagle-wing,  gravely 
seated  around  the  fire,  were  conversing 
in  a  low  voice,  while  watching  the  neigh 
borhood. 

All  at  once  Valentine  sharply  seized 
the  Ulmen  by  the  collar,  and  pulled 
him  to  the  ground  :  at  the  same  moment 
a  shot  was  fired,  and  a  bullet  struck  the 
logs,  producing  myriads  of  sparks. 

The  Mexicans,  startled  by  the  shot, 
sprung  up  and  seized  their  arms,  but 
the  hunters  had  disappeared. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this?"  Don 
Miguel  asked,  looking  round  vainly  in 
the  darkness. 

"  I  am  greatly  mistaken,"  said  the 
general,  "  if  we  are  not  attacked." 

"Attacked!"  the  haciendero  conti^- 
ued  ;  "  by  whom  ?" 

"  By  enemies,  probably,"  the  general 
remarked ;  "  but  who  those  enemies 
are  I  cannot  tell  you." 

"  Where  are  our  friends  ?"  Don  Pa 
blo  asked. 

"Hunting,  I  suppose,"  the  general 
replied. 

"  Stay,  here  they  come,"  said  Don 
Miguel. 

The  hunters  returned,  but  not  alone  ; 


they  had  a  prisoner  with  them,  and 
the  prisoner  was  Orson,  the  Pirate.  So 
soon  as  he  had  him  in  the  bivouac,  Val 
entine  bound  him  securely,  and  then 
examined  him  for  some  minutes  with 
profound  attention.  The  bandit  endur- 
en  this  examination  with  a  feigned  care 
lessness,  which,  well-played  though  it 
was,  did  not  quite  deceive  the  French 
man.  "  Hum  !"  the  latter  said  to  him 
self,  "this  seems  to  me  a  cunning 
scamp  ;  let  me  see  if  I  am  wrong — who 
are  you,  ruffian  ?"  he  roughly  asked 
him. 

"  I  ?"  the  other  said  with  a  silly  air. 

"Yes,  you." 

"  A  hunter." 

"  A  scalp-hunter,  I  suppose  ?"  Valen 
tine  went  on. 

"  Why  so  ?"  the  other  asked. 

"  I  suppose  you  did  not  take  us  for 
wild  beasts  ?" 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  the  ban 
dit  said,  with  a  stupid  look. 

"  That  is  possible,"  said  Valentine  . 
"  what  is  your  name  ?''* 

"  Orson." 

"  A  pretty  name  enough.  And  why 
were  you  prowling  round  our  bi 
vouac  ?" 

"  The  night  is  dark,  and  I  took  you 
for  Apaches." 

"  Is  that  why  you  fired  at  us  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"I  suppose  you  did  not  expect  to 
kill  us  all  six  ?" 

"  I  did  not  try  to  kill  you." 

"  Ah,  ah  !  you  wished  to  give  us  a 
salute,  I  suppose  ?"  the  hunter  remark 
ed,  with  a  laugh. 

"  No,  but  I  wished  to  attract  your 
attention." 

"  Well,  you  succeeded  ;  in  that  case, 
why  did  you  bolt  ?" 

"I  did  not  do  so — I  let  you  catch 
me." 

"  Hum,'J  Valentine  said  again  ;  "  well, 
no  matter,  we  have  got  you,  and  you'll 
be  very  clever  if  you  escape." 

"  Who  knows?"  the  Pirate  muttered. 

"  Where  were  you  going?" 

"  To  join  my  friends  on  the  other 
bank  of  the  river." 

"  What  friends  ?" 

"  Friends  of  mine  * 

"  I  suppose  so." 


144 


THE    PIRATES    OP    THE    PRAIRIES. 


"  The  man  is  an  idiot,"  Don  Miguel 
said,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

Valentine  gave  him  a  significant  look. 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?"  he  said. 

As  the  haciendero  made  no  reply,  Val 
entine  continued  his  cross-questioning. 

"  Who  are  the  friends  you  were  go 
ing  to  join  V9 

"  I  told  you— hunters." 

"  Very  well — but  those  hunters  have 
a  name." 

"  Have  you  not  one,  too  ?" 

"  Listen,  scamp,"  Valentine  said, 
whom  the  Pirate's  evasions  were  begin 
ning  to  make  angry,  "  I  warn  you  that, 
if  you  do  not  answer  my  questions 
simply,  I  shall  be  forced  to  blow  out 
your  brains." 

Orson  started  back. 

"  Blow  out  my  brains  !"  he  exclaim 
ed.  "  Nonsense,  you  would  not  dare." 

"  Why  not,  mate?" 

"  Because  Bed  Cedar  would  avenge 
me." 

"  Ah  ah,  you  know  Red  Cedar  V9 

"  Of  course  I  do,  as  I  was  going  to 
join  him." 

"  Hilloh  !»  Valentine  said  distrust 
fully.  "  Where,  then  ?" 

"  Wherever  he  may  be." 

"  That  is  true — then  you  know  where 
Red  Cedar  is?" 

"  Yes." 

"  In  that  case  you  will  guide  us  to 
him." 

"I  shall  be  delighted,"  the  Pirate 
said  quickly. 

Valentine  turned  to  his  friend. 

"This  man  is  a  traitor,"  he  said. 
"  He  was  sent  to  draw  us  into  a  snare, 
in  which  we  will  not  let  ourselves  be 
caught.  Curumilla,  fasten  a  rope  to  a 
branch  of  that  oak-tree." 

"  What  for  ?"  Don  Miguel  asked. 

"  To  hang  this  scamp,  who  fancies  we 
are  fools." 

Orson  trembled. 

"  One  moment,"  he  said. 

"  What  for  ?"  the  hunter  asked. 

"  Why,  I  do  not  wish  to  be  hanged." 

"And  yet,  it  will  happen  to  you 
within  ten  minutes,  my  good  fellow — so 
you  had  better  make  up  your  mind  to 
it." 

"  Not  at  all,  since  I  offer  to  lead  you 
to  Red  Cedar." 


"Very  good — but  I  prefer  going 
alone." 

"  As  you  please.  In  that  case,  let  me 
go." 

"  That  is  not  possible,  unfortunately." 

"  Why  not  r 

"  I  will  tell  you :  because,  if  you 
were  set  at  liberty,  you  would  go 
straight  and  tell  the  man  who  sent  you 
what  you  have  seen,  and  I  do  not  wish 
that.  Besides,  I  know  at  present  as 
well  as  you  do,  where  Red  Cedar  is." 

"  Red  Cedar  does  not  hide  himself, 
and  can  always  be  found." 

"Very  good.  You  have  five  min 
utes  to  recommend  yonr  soul  to  Hea 
ven,  and  that  is  more  than  you  de 
serve." 

Orson  understood  from  the  hunter's 
accent  that  he  was  lost.  Hence  he 
made  up  his  mind  bravely. 

"  Bravo  !"  he  said,  "  well-played." 

Valentine  looked  at  him. 

"  You  are  a  plucky  fellow,"  he  said 
to  him,  "  and  I  will  do  something  for 
you.  Curumilla,  unfasten  his  arms." 

The  Indian  obeyed. 

"  Look  here,"  said  Valentine,  offer- 
ing  him  a  pistol.  "Blow  out  your 
brains,  it  will  be  sooner  over,  and  you 
will  suffer  less." 

The  bandit  seized  the  weapon  with  a 
diabolical  grin,  and,  with  a  movement 
swift  as  thought,  fired  at  the  hunter. 

But  Curumilla  was  watching  him, 
and  cleft  his  skull  with  his  tomahawk. 

The  bullet  whistled  harmlessly  past 
Valentine's  ear. 

"  Thanks,"  said  the  bandit,  as  he  roll 
ed  on  the  ground. 

"What  men!"  Don  Miguel  exclaimed. 

"  Canarios,  my  friend,"  the  general 
said,  "  you  had  a  narrow  escape." 

The  three  men  dug  a  hole  into  which 
they  threw  the  bandit's  body. 

The  rest  of  the  night  passed  without 
incident,  and  at  daybreak  the  hunt  re 
commenced. 

About  mid-day,  the  hunters  found 
themselves  again  on  the  river  bank,  and 
saw  two  Indian  canoes  drifting  down 
with  the  current. 

"Back,  back!"  Valentine  suddenly 
shouted. 

All  lay  down  on  the  grass,  and  at  the 
same  instant  bullets  richochetted  from 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


145 


the  rocks,  and  arrows  whizzed  through 
the  leaves,  but  no  one  was  wounded. 

Valentine  disdained  to  reply. 

"  They  are  Apaches,"  he  said.  "  Let 
us  not  waste  our  powder ;  besides,  they 
are  out  of  range." 

They  set  out  again. 

Gradually,  the  forest  grew  clearer, 
the  trees  became  rare,  and  they  at  length 
entered  a  vast  prairie. 

"  Stop,''  said  Valentine,  "  we  must  be 
approaching.  I  believe  we  shall  do 
well,  now  that  we  have  an  expanse  be 
fore  us,  to  examine  the  horizon." 

He  stood  upright  in  his  saddle,  and 
began  looking  carefully  around.  Pre 
sently,  he  got  down. 

"  Nothing,"  he  said. 

At  this  moment,  he  saw  something 
glistening  in  the  grass,  on  the  river 
bank. 

"What  is  that?"  he  asked  himself, 
and  bent  down.  But,  instead  of  rising 
again,  he  bent  lower  still,  and  in  a  se 
cond  turned  to  Curumilla. 

"  The  moccasin,"  he  said,  sharply. 

The  Indian  handed  it  to  him. 

"  Look  !"  the  hunter  said. 

At  this  spot  the  sand  was  damp,  and, 
under  a  pile  of  leaves,  there  appeared 
clearly  and  distinctly  the  trace  of  a 
man's  foot,  with  the  toes  in  the  water. 

"  They  are  only  two  hours  ahead  of 
us,"  said  Valentine.  "  One  of  them  lost 
a  horse-bell  here." 

"  They  have  crossed  the  river,"  said 
Eagle-wing. 

'*  That  is  easy  to  see,"  the  general  re 
marked. 

Valentine  smiled,  and  looked  at  Curu 
milla,  who  shook  his  head. 

"  No,"  the  hunter  said.  "  It  is  a 
trick,  but  they  shall  not  catch  me." 

Making  his  comrades  a  signal  not  to 
stir,  Valentine  turned  his  back  to  the 
river,  and  walked  rapidly  toward  a  tree- 
covered  hill  a  short  distance  off. 

"  Come !"  he  shouted,  so  soon  as  he 
reached  the  top. 

Several  dead  trees  lay  scattered  in  an 
open  space.  Aided  by  Curumilla,  Val 
entine  began  removing  them. 

The  Mexicans,  whose  curiosity  was 
aroused  to  an  eminent  degree,  also  lent 
a  hand. 


In  a  few  minutes,  several  trees  were 
rolled  on  one  side. 

Valentine  then  removed  the  leaves, 
and  discovered  the  remains  of  a  fire, 
with  the  ashes  still  warm. 

"  Come,  come,"  he  said,  "  Red  Cedar 
is  not  so  clever  as  I  thought." 

Don  Miguel,  his  son,  and  the  general 
were  astounded,  but  the  hunter  only 
smiled. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  he  said.  "  But  the 
shadow  of  the  sun  is  already  lengthen 
ing  on  the  horizon,  within  three  hours, 
it  will  be  night;  so  remain  here.  When 
the  gloom  is  thick,  we  will  start  again." 

They  bivouacked. 

"  Now,  sleep,"  Valentine  bade  them. 
"  I  will  awake  you  when  necessary,  for 
you  will  have  smart  work  to-night." 

And  joining  example  to  precept,  Val 
entine  lay  down  on  the  ground,  closed 
his  eyes,  and  slept.  At  about  an  hour 
after  sunset,  he  woke  again ;  he  looked 
around,  his  comrades  were  still  asleep, 
but  one  was  absent — Curumilla. 

"Good,"  Valentine  thought;  "the 
chief  has  seen  something,  and  gone  to 
reconnoitre." 

He  had  scarce  finished  this  aside, 
when  he  noticed  two  shadows  standing 
out  vaguely  in  the  night;  the  hunter 
darted  behind  a  tree,  and  cocked  his 
rifle. 

At  the  same  instant,  the  cry  of  the 
swan  was  audible  a  short  distance  off. 

"Halloah!"  said  Valentine,  as  he 
withdrew  his  rifle,  "  can  Curumilla  have 
made  another  prisoner  1  Let  me  have 
a  look." 

A  few  minutes  later,  Curumilla  ar 
rived,  closely  followed  by  an  Indian 
warrior,  who  was  no  other  than  Black 
Cat. 

On  seeing  him,  Valentine  repressed 
with  difficulty  a  cry  of  surprise. 

•*  My  brother  is  welcome,"  he  said. 

"I  was  expecting  my  brother,"  the 
Apache  chief  said,  simply. 

"  How  so  ?" 

"  My  brother  is  on  the  trail  of  Bed 
Cedar  V ' 

"  Yes." 

"  Red  Cedar  is  there,"  said  Black  Cat, 
pointing  in  the  direction  of  the  river. 


146 


THE    PIRATES    OP    THE    PRAIRIES. 


"  About  half  an  hour." 

"  Good.  How  does  my  red  brother 
know  it?"  the  hunter  asked,  with  ill- 
concealed  suspicion. 

"  The  great  pale  warrior  is  the  bro 
ther  of  Black  Cat;  he  saved  his  life. 
The  red-skins  have  a  long  memory. 
Black  Cat  assembled  his  young  men, 
and  followed  Red  Cedar  to  deliver  him 
to  his  brother  Koutonepi." 

Valentine  did  not  for  an  instant  doubt 
the  good  faith  of  the  Apache  Chief ;  he 
knew  how  religiously  the  Indians  keep 
their  oaths. 

Black  Cat  had  formed  an  alliance  with 
him,  and  he  could  place  implicit  confi 
dence  in  his  words. 

"Good,"  he  said,  "I  will  wake  the 
pale  warriors;  my  brother  will  guide 
us." 

The  Indian  bowed  and  folded  his  arms 
on  his  chest.  A  quarter  of  an  hour 
later,  the  hunters  reached  the  encamp 
ment  of  the  red-skins,  when  they  found 
that  Black  Cat  had  spoken  the  truth,  for 
he  had  one  hundred  picked  warriors 
with  him,  so  cleverly  concealed  in  the 
grass  that  ten  paces  off  it  was  impos 
sible  to  perceive  them. 

Black  Cat  drew  Valentine  aside,  and 
led  him  a  short  distance  from  the  bi 
vouac. 

"  Let  my  brother  look,"  he  said. 

The  hunter  then  saw,  a  little  way  off, 
the  fires  of  the  gambusinos. 

Red  Cedar  had  placed  hia  eamp 
against  a  hill  side,  which  prevented  the 
hunters  seeing  it.  The  squatter  fancied 
he  had  thrown  Valentine  out,  and  this 
night,  for  the  first  time  since  he  knew 
he  was  pursued,  he  allowed  his  people 
to  light  a  fire. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE    COMBAT. 

RED  CEDAR'S  camp  was  plunged  in  si- 
lence ;  all  were  asleep,  save  three  or 
four  gambusinos  who  watched  over  the 
safety  of  their  comrades,  and  two  per 
sons  who,  carelessly  reclining  before  a 
tent  erected  in  the  centre  of  the  camp, 
were  conversing  in  a  low  voice. 

They  were  Red  Cedar  and  Fray  Am- 
brosio. 

The  squatter  seemed  suffering  from 
considerable  anxiety;  with  his  eye  fixed 
on  space,  he  seemed  to  be  sounding  the 
darkness  and  guessing  the  secrets  which 
the  night  that  surrounded  him  bore  in 
its  bosom. 

"  Gossip,"  the  monk  said,  "  do  you 
believe  that  we  have  succeeded  in  hiding 
our  trail  from  the  white  hunters  ?" 

"Those  villains  are  dogs  at  whom  I 
laugh;  my  wife  would  suffice  to  drive 
them  away  with  a  whip,"  Red  Cedar  re 
plied,  disdainfully ;  "  I  know  all  the 
windings  of  the  prairie,  and  have  acted 
for  the  best." 

"  Then,  we  are  at  length  freed  from 
our  enemies,"  the  monk  said,  with  a  sigh 
of  relief. 

"  Yes,  gossip,"  the  squatter  remarked 
with  a  grin;  "now  you  can  sleep 
calmly." 

"  Ah,"  said  the  monk,  "  all  the  bet 
ter." 

At  this  moment,  a  bullet  whistled 
over  the  Spaniard's  head,  and  flattened 
against  one  of  the  tent  poles. 

"  Malediction  !"  the  squatter  yelled, 
as  he  sprang  up ;  "  those  mad  wolves 
again.  To  arms,  lads ;  here  are  the  red 
skins." 

Within  a  few  seconds,  all  the  gambu 
sinos  were  alert  and  ambuscaded  behind 
the  bales  that  formed  the  wall  of  the 
camp. 

At  the  same  moment,  fearful  yells, 
followed  by  a  terrible  discharge,  burst 
forth  from  the  prairie. 

The  squatter's  band  comprised  about 
twenty  resolute  men,  with  the  Pirates 
he  had  enlisted.  The  gambusinos  did 
not  let  themselves  be  terrified;  they  re 
plied  by  a  point-blank  discharge  at  a 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


147 


numerous  band  of  horsemen  gallopin 
at  full  speed  on  the  camp. 

The  Indians  rode  in  every  direction, 
uttering  ferocious  yells,  and  brandishing 
burning  torches  which  they  constantly 
hurled  into  the  camp. 

The  Indians,  as  a  general  rule,  only 
attack  their  enemies  by  surprise ;  when 
they  have  no  other  object  in  view  but 
pillage,  as  soon  as  they  are  discovered 
and  meet  with  a  vigorous  resistance, 
they  cease  a  combat  which  has  become 
objectless  to  them.  But  on  this  occa 
sion  the  red-skins  seemed  to  have  given 
up  their  ordinary  tactics,  so  obstinately 
did  they  assail  the  gambusino  intrench- 
ments;  frequently  repulsed,  they  re 
turned  with  renewed  ardor,  fighting  in 
the  op«  n  and  trying  to  crush  their  ene 
mies  by  their  numbers. 

Red  Cedar,  terrified  by  the  duration 
of  a  combat  in  which  his  bravest  com 
rades  had  perished,  resolved  to  attempt 
a  final  effort,  and  conquer  the  Indians 
by  daring  and  temerity. 

By  a  signal  he  collected  his  three  sons 
around  him,  with  Andres  Garote  and 
Fray  Ambrosio ;  but  the  Indians  did 
not  leave  them  the  time  to  carry  out 
the  plan  they  had  formed  ;  they  return 
ed  to  the  charge  with  incredible  fury, 
and  a  cloud  of  incendiary  arrows  and 
lighted  torches  fell  on  the  camp  from 
all  sides  at  once. 

The  fire  added  its  horrors  to  those  of 
the  combat,  and  ere  long  the  camp  was 
a  burning  fiery  furnace.  The  red-skins, 
cleverly  profiting  by  the  disorder  the 
fire  caused  among  the  gambusinos,  es- 
caladed  the  bales,  invaded  the  camp, 
rushed  on  the  whites,  and  a  hand-to- 
hand  fight  commenced. 

In  spite  of  their  courage  and  skill  in 
the  use  of  arms,  the  gambusinos  were 
overwhelmed  by  the  masses  of  their 
enemies ;  a  few  minutes  longer,  and  all 
would  be  over  with  Red  Cedar's  band. 

The  squatter  resolved  to  make  a  su 
preme  effort  to  save  the  few  men  still 
left  him  ;  taking  Fray  Ambrosio  aside, 
who,  since  the  beginning  the  action,  had 
constantly  fought  by  his  side,  he  ex 
plained  his  intentions  to  him  ;  and  when 
lie  felt  that  the  monk  would  certainly 
carry  out  his  plans,  he  rushed  with  in 
credible  fury  iii to  the  thickest  of  the 


fight,  and  felling  or  stabbing  the  red 
skins  who  stood  in  his  way,  h0  succeeded 
in  entering  the  tent. 

Dona  Clara,  with  her  head  stretched 
forward,  seemed  to  be  anxiously  listen 
ing  to  the  noises  outside. 

Two  paces  from  her,  the  squatter's 
wife  was  dying ;  a  bullet  had  passed 
through  her  skull. 

On  seeing  Red  Cedar,  the  maiden 
folded  her  arms  on  her  bosom,  and 
waited. 

"  Voto  a  DiosT1  the  brigand  exclaim 
ed.  "  She  is  still  here.  Follow  me, 
senora,  we  must  be  off." 

"  No,"  the  Spaniard  answered,  reso 
lutely.  "  I  will  not  go." 

"  Come,  child,  obey  ;  do  not  oblige 
me  to  employ  violence;  time  is  pre 
cious." 

.  "  1  will  not  go,  I  tell  you,"  the  mai 
den  repeated. 

"  For  the  last  time,  will  you  follow 
me — yes  or  no  ?" 

Dona  Clara  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

The  squatter  saw  that  any  discussion 
was  useless,  and  he  must  settle  the  ques 
tion  by  force ;  so,  leaping  over  the 
corpse  of  his  wife,  he  tried  to  seize  the 
girl.  But  the  latter,  who  had  watched 
all  his  movements,  bounded  like  a 
startled  fawn,  drew  a  dagger  from  her 
breast,  and  with  flashing  eye,  quivering 
nostrils,  and  trembling-  lips,  she  prepar 
ed  to  go  through  a  desperate  struggle. 

There  must  be  an  end  of  this,  so  the 
squatter  raised  his  sabre,  and  with  the 
flat  dealt  such  a  terrible  blow  on  the 
girl's  delicate  arm,  that  she  let  the  dag 
ger  fall,  and  uttered  a  shriek  of  pain. 
But  the  unhappy  girl  stooped  at  once  to 
pick  up  her  weapon  with  her  left  hand. 

Red  Cedar  took  advantage  of  this 
movement,  bounded  upon  her,  and  made 
her  a  girdle  of  his  powerful  arms. 

The  maiden,  who  had  hitherto  resisted 
in  silence,  shrieked  with  all  the  energy 
of  despair: 

11  Help,  Shaw,  help  !" 

"Ah  !"  Red  Cedar  howled  j  "  he,  then, 
was  the  traitor !  Let  him  come,  if  he 
dare." 

And,  raising  the  girl  in  his  arms,  ha 
ran  toward  the  entrance  of  the  hut,  but 
he  fell  back  suddenly,  with  a  ghastly 
oath. 


148 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


1  A  man  barred  his  passage,  and  that 
man  was  Valentine.  v  • 

"Ah,  ah!"  the  hunter  said,  with  a 
sarcastic  smile ;  "  there  you  are  again, 
Red  Cedar.  Carai,  rny  master,  you 
tee i n  in  a  hurry." 

•*  Let  me  pass,"  the  squatter  yelled, 
as  he  cocked  a  pistol. 

"Pass1?"  Valentine  repeated,  with  a 
laugh,  while  carefully  watching  the  ban 
dit's  movements.  "  You  are  in  a  great 
haste  to  leave  our  company.  Come,  no 
threats,  or  I  kill  you  like  a  dog." 

"1  shall  kill  you,  villain,"  Red  Cedar 
exclaimed,  pulling  with  a  convulsive 
movement  the  trigger  of  the  pistol. 

But,  although  the  squatter  had  been 
so  quick,  Valentine  was  not  less  so ; 
he  stooped  smartly  to  escape  the  bul 
let,  which  did  not  strike  him,  and  raised 
his  rifle,  but  did  not  dare  fire,  for  Red 
Cedar  had  fallen  back  to  the  end  of  the 
tent,  and  employed  the  maiden  as  a 
buckler. 

At  the  sound  of  the  shot  Valentine's 
comrades  hurried  up  to  the  tent,  which 
was  simultaneously  invaded  by  the  In 
dians. 

The  few  gambusinos  who  survived 
their  companions,  about  seven  or  eight, 
whom  Fray  Ambrosio  had  collected  by 
the  squatter's  orders,  guessing  what 
was  occurring,  and  desiring  to  aid  their 
chief,  crept  stealthily  up,  and  seizing 
the  tent  ropes,  cut  them  all  at  once. 

The  mass  of  canvas,  no  longer  sup 
ported,  fell  in,  burying  and  dragging 
down  with  it  all  who  were  beneath  it. 

There  was  a  moment  of  terrible  con 
fusion  among  the  Indians  and  hunters, 
which  Red  Cedar  cleverly  employed  to 
step  out  of  the  tent  and  mount  a  horse 
.Fray  Ambrosio  held  in  readiness  for 
him.  • 

But,  at  the  moment  he  was  going  to 
dash  on',  Shaw  barred  his  passage. 

''Stop,  father,"  he  shouted,  as  he 
boldly  seized  the  bridle,  "give  me  that 
girl." 

"  Back,  villain,  back,"  the  squatter 
howled,  grinding  his  teeth  ;  "  back !" 

"You   shall   not  pass,"  Shaw  contin 
ued.     "  Give  me  Dona  Clara  !" 
Red  Cedar  felt  that  he  was  lost. 
Valentine,   Don    Miguel,   and    their 


comrades,  at  length  freed,  from  the  tent, 
were  hurrying  up  at  full  speed. 

"  Wretch  !"   he  exclaimed. 

And,  making  his  horse  bound,  he  cut 
his  son  down  with  his  sabre. 

The  witnesses  uttered  a  cry  of  hor 
ror,  while  the  gambusinos,  starting  at 
full  speed,  passed  like  a  whirlwind 
through  the  dense  mass  of  foes. 

"Oh!"  Don  Miguel  shrieked,  "I 
will  save  my  daughter." 

And  leaping  on  a  horse,  he  rushed  in 
pursuit  of  the  bandits  ;  the  hunters  and 
Indians,  leaving  the  burning  camp  to  a 
few  plunderers,  also  started  after  them. 

But  suddenly  an  incomprehensible 
thing  occurred  :  a  terrible,  superhuman 
noise  was  heard;  the  horses,  going  at 
full  speed,  stopped,  neighing  with  ter 
ror  ;  and  the  Pirates,  hunters,  and  red 
skins,  instinctively  raising  their  eyes  to 
Heaven,  could  not  restrain  a  cry  of  hor 
ror. 

"  Oh  !"  Red  Cedar  shouted,  with  an 
accent  of  rage  impossible  to  render ; 
"  I  will  escape  in  spite  of  Heaven  and 
Hell  !" 

And  he  buried  his  spurs  in  his  horse's 
flanks ;  the  animal  gave  vent  to  a  snort 
of  agony,  but  remained  motionless. 

"  My  daughter,  my  daughter  T'  Don 
Miguel  shouted,  striving  in  vain  to 
reach  the  Pirate. 

"  Come  and  take  her,  dog,"  the  ban 
dit  yelled;  "I  will  only  give  her  to 
you  dead/' 


CHAPTER   XXXVI. 

THE    EARTHQUAKE. 

A  FRIGHTFUL  change  had  suddenly 
taken  place  in  Nature. 

The  heavenly  vault  had  assumed  the 
appearance  of  a  vast  globe  of  yellow 
copper :  the  pallid  moon  emitted  no 
beams;  and  the  atmosphere  was  so 
transparent,  that  the  most  distant  ob 
jects  were  visible.  A  stifling  heat 
weighed  on  the  earth,  and  there  wa* 
not  a  breath  in  the  air  to  stir  the 
leaves. 

The  Gila  had  ceased  to  flow. 

The    hoarse   roar    which    had    been 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


149 


heard  before  was  repeated  with  tenfold 
force  :  the  river,  lifted  bodily,  as  if  by 
a  powerful  and  invisible  hand,  rose  to 
an  enormous  height,  and  suddenly  de 
scended  on  the  plain,  over  which  it 
poured  with  incredioie  rapidity :  the 
mountains  oscillated  on  their  base, 
hurling  on  to  the  prairie  enormous 
blocks  of  rock,  which  fell  with  a  fright 
ful  crash :  the  earth,  opening  on  all 
sides,  filled  up  valleys,  levelled  hills, 
poured  from  its  bosom  torrents  of 
sulphurous  water,  which  threw  up 
stones  and  burning  mud,  and  then  be 
gan  to  heave  with  a  slow  and  continuous 
movement. 

"  Terremoto  !  (earthquake),"  the  hun 
ters  and  gambusinos  exclaimed,  as  they 
crossed  themselves  and  recited  all  the 
prayers  that  recurred  to  their  mind. 

It  was,  in  truth,  an  earthquake — the 
most  fearful  scourge  of  these  regions. 

The  ground  seemed  to  boil,  if  we 
may  employ  the  expression — rising  and 
falling  incessantly,  like  the  waves  of 
the  sea  during  a  tempest.  The  bed  of 
the  rivers  and  streams  changed  at  each 
instant,  and  gulfs  of  unfathomable 
depth  opened  beneath  the  feet  of  the 
terrified  men. 

The  wild  beasts,  driven  from  their 
lairs  and  repulsed  by  the  river,  whose 
waters  constantly  rose,  came,  mad  with 
terror,  to  join  the  men.  Countless 
herds  of  buffaloes  traversed  the  plain, 
uttering  hoarse  lowings,  dashing  against 
each  other,  turning  back  suddenly  to 
avoid  the  abysses  that  opened  at  their 
feet,  and  threatening  in  their  furious 
course  to  trample  under  everything  that 
offered  an  obstacle. 

The  jaguars,  panthers,  cougars,  griz 
zly  bears,  and  coyotes,  pell-mell  with 
the  deer,  antelopes,  elks,  and  asshatas, 
uttered  howls  and  plaintive  yells,  not 
thinking  of  attacking  each  other,  so 
thoroughly  had  fear  paralyzed  their 
bloodthirsty  instincts. 

The  birds  whirled  round,  with  wild 
eroakings  in  the  air  impregnated  with 
sulphur  and  bitumen,  or  fell  heavily  to 
the  ground,  stunned  by  fear,  with  their 
wings  outstretched,  and  feathers  stand 
ing  on  end. 

A  second  scourge  joined  the  former, 


and  added,  were  it  possible,  to  the  hor-> 
ror  of  this  scene. 

The  fire  lit  in  tlie  gambusino  camp 
by  the  Indians  gradually  gained  the 
tall  prairie  grass  ;  suddenly  it  was  re 
vealed  in  its  majestic  and  terrible  splen 
dor,  kindling  all  in  its  sparks  with  a 
whizzing  sound. 

A  person  must  have  seen  a  fire  on 
the  prairies  of  the  Far  West  to  form 
an  idea  of  the  splendid  horror  of  such  a 
sight. 

Virgin  forests  are  burnt  to  the 
ground,  their  aged  trees  writhing,  and 
uttering  complaints  and  cries  like 
human  beings.  The  incandescent  moun 
tains  resemble  ill-omened  light-ljouses, 
whose*  immense  flames  rise  as  spirals  to 
the  sky,  which  they  color  for  a  wide 
distance  with  their  blood-red  hue. 

The  earth  continued  at  intervals  to 
suffer  violent  shocks;  to  the  North 
West  the  waters  of  the  Gila  were 
bounding  madly  forward ;  in  the 
South  West,  the  fire  was  hurrying  on 
with  sharp  and  rapid  leaps. 

The  unhappy  red-skins,  the  hunters, 
and  the  Pirates  their  enemies,  saw  with 
indescribable  terror  the  space  around 
them  growing  momentarily  smaller,  and 
every  chance  of  safety  cut  off  in  turn. 

In  this  supreme  moment,  when  every 
feeling  of  hatted  should  have  been  ex 
tinguished  in  their  hearts,  Red  Cedar 
and  the  hunters,  only  thinking  of  their 
vengeance,  continued  their  rapid  hunt, 
racing  like  demons  across  the  prairie, 
which  would  soon  doubtless  serve  as 
their  sepulchre. 

In  the  meanwhile,  the  two  scourges 
marched  towards  one  another,  and  the 
whites  and  red-skins  could  already  cal 
culate  with  certainty  how  many  minutes 
were  left  them,  in  their  last  refuge,  ere 
they  were  buried  beneath  the  waters,  or 
devoured  by  the  flames. 

At  this  terrible  moment  the  Apacbes 
all  turned  to  Valentine  as  the  only  man 
who  could  save  them ;  aud  at  this  su 
preme  appeal,  the  hunter  gave  up  for  a 
few  seconds  his  pursuit  of  Red  Cedar. 

"  What  do  my  brothers  ask  ?"  he  said. 

"  That  the  great  Hunter  of  the  Pale 
faces  should  save  them,"  Black  Cat  said 
without  hesitation. 


150 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


Valentine  smiled  mournfully,  as  he 
took  a  look  at  all  these  men  who  await 
ed  their  safety  from  him. 

"  God  alone  can  save  you,"  he  said, 
"for  He  is  omnipotent;  His  hand  has 
weighed  heavily  on  us.  What  can  I,  a 
poor  creature,  do1?" 

"  The  Pale-hunter  must  save  us,"  the 
Apache  Chief  repeated. 

The  hunter  gave  a  sigh. 

•*  I  will  try,"  he  said. 

The  Indians  eagerly  collected  around 
him. 

The  simple  men  considered  that  this 
hunter,  whom  they  were  accustomed  to 
admire,  and  whom  they  had  seen  do  so 
many  surprising  deeds,  had  a  superhu 
man  power  at  his  command  :  they  placed 
a  superstitious  faith  in  him. 

"  My  brothers  will  listen  ;"  Valentine 
went  on  :  "only  one  chance  of  safety  is 
left  them — a  very  weak  one,  but  it  is  at 
present  the  only  one  they  can  attempt. 
Let  each  take  his  arms,  and  without  loss 
of  time  kill  the  buffaloes  madly  running 
about  the  prairie;  their  skins  will  serve 
as  canoes  to  fly  the  fire  that  threatens  to 
devour  everything." 

The  Indians  gave  vent  to  a  shout  of 
joy  and  hope,  and  without  further  hesi 
tation  attacked  the  buffaloes,  which,  half 
mad  with  terror,  let  themselves  be  kill 
ed  without  offering  the  slightest  resist 
ance. 

So  soon  as  Valentine  saw  that  his  al 
lies  were  following  his  advice,  and  were 
busily  engaged  in  making  their  canoes,  he 
thought  once  more  of  the  Pirates,  who, 
for  their  part,  had  not  remained  idle. 

Directed  by  Red  Cedar,  they  had  col 
lected  some  uprooted  trees,  attached 
them  together  with  their  lassos,  and  af 
ter  this,  forming  a  raft  which  would  bear 
them  all,  they  thrust  it  into  the  water, 
and  entrusted  themselves  to  the  cur 
rent. 

Don  Pablo,  seeing  his  enemy  on  the 
point  of  escaping  him  a  second  time, 
did  not  hesitate  to  cover  him  with  his 
rifle. 

But  Andres  Garote  had  a  spite  on  the 
Mexican,  and  taking  advantage  of  the 
opportunity  he  quickly  raised  his  rifle, 
and  fired.  The  bullet,  disturbed  by  the 
oscillation  of  the  raft,  did  not  hit  the 
young  man,  but  hit  his  rifle  in  his  hands, 


at  the  moment  he  was  pulling  the  trig 
ger. 

The  Pirates  uttered  a  shout  of  triumph 
which  was  suddenly  changed  into  a  cry 
of  anger. 

Senor  Andres  Garote  fell  into  th<-ir 
arms  with  a  bullet  through  his  chest,  pre 
sented  to  him  by  Cururnilla. 

Just  at  this  moment  the  sun  rose 
gloriously  on  the  horizon,  lighting  up 
the  magnificent  picture  of  travailing  na 
ture,  and  restoring  a  little  courage  to 
the  men. 

The  red-skins,  after  making,  with 
their  peculiar  quickness  and  skill,  som** 
twenty  canoes,  were  already  beginning 
to  launch  them. 

The  hunters  tried  to  lasso  the  raft, 
and  draw  it  to  them,  while  the  Pirates 
on  the  other  hand,  employed  the  utmost 
efforts  to  keep  it  in  the  current. 

Curumilla  had  succeeded  in  throwing 
his  lasso  so  as  to  entangle  it  in  the  trees, 
but  Red  Cedar  cut  it  twice  with  his 
knife. 

"  We  must  finish  with  that  bandit," 
Valentine  said,  "  kill  him  at  all  risks." 

"  One  moment,  I  implore  you,"  Don 
Miguel  entreated,  "  let  me  first  speak 
to  him,  perhaps  I  muy  move  his  heart." 

"  Humph  !"  the  hunter  muttered,  as 
he  rested  his  rifle  on  the  ground,  "  it 
would  be  easier  to  move  a  tiger." 

Don  Miguel  walked  a  few  paces  for 
ward. 

"  Red  Cedar,"  he  exclaimed,  "  have 
pity  on  me — give  me  back  my  daugli- 
ter." 

The  Pirate  grinned,  but  gave  no  an 
swer. 

"  Red  Cedar,"  Don  Miguel  went  on, 
"  have  pity  on  me,  I  implore  you,  1  will 
pay  any  ransom  you  ask  ;  but  in  tlw 
name  of  what  there  is  most  sacred  on 
earth,  restore  me  my  daughter  ;  remem 
ber  that  you  owe  your  life  to  me." 

"I  owe  you  nothing,"  the  squatter 
said  brutally  ;  "  the  life  you  saved  you 
tried  to  take  from  me  again  ;  we  are 
quits." 

"  My  daughter  !  give  me  my  daugh 
ter." 

"  Where  is  mine  ?  where  is  Ellen  ? 
restore  her  to  me  ;  perhaps,  after  that, 
I  will  consent  to  give  you  your  daugh 
ter." 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


151 


"  She  is   not    with   us,  Red  Cedar, 
swear  it  to  you  ;  she  went  away  to  join 
you." 

"  A  lie  !"  the  Pirate  yelled,  "  a  lie  !' 

At  this  moment,  Dona  Clara,  whose 
movements  nobody  was  watching,  bold 
ly  leaped  into  the  water. 

But,  at  the  sound  of  the  dive,  Rec 
Cedar  turned  and  plunged  in  after  her 
The  hunters  began  firing  again  on  the 
Pirate,  who,  as  if  he  had  a  charmed 
life,  shook  his  head  with  a  sarcastic 
laugh  at  every  bullet  that  struck  the 
water  near  him. 

"  Help  !"  the  maiden  cried  in  a  pant 
ing  voice  ;  "  Valentine,  my  father,  help 
me  !"  ^_  . 

"  I  come,"  Don  Miguel  answered : 
"  courage,  my  child,  courage  !" 

And,  only  listening  to  paternal  love, 
Don  Miguel  bounded  forward,  but,  at  a 
sign  from  Valentine,  Curumilla  and  Ea 
gle-wing  stopped  him,  in  spite  of  all  his 
efforts  to  tear  himself  from  their  grasp. 

The  hunter  took  his  knife  in  his  teeth 
and  leaped  into  the  river. 

"  Come,  father  '?"  Dona  Clara  repeat 
ed — •*  where  are  you  1  where  are  you  ?" 

"  Here  I  am  !"  Don  Miguel  shrieked. 

"  Courage !  courage !"  Valentine  shout 
ed. 

The  hunter  made  a  tremendous  effort 
to  reach  the  maiden,  and  the  two  ene 
mies  found  themselves  face  to  face  in  the 
agitated  waters  of  the  Gila.  Forgetting 
all  feeling  of  self  preservation  they  rush 
ed  on  each  other  knife  in  hand. 

At  this  moment  a  formidable  sound, 
resembling  the  discharge  of  a  park  of  ar 
tillery,  burst  from  the  entrails  of  the 
earth,  a  terrible  shock  agitated  the 
ground,  and  the  river  was  forced  back 
into  its  bed  with  irrevsistible  force. 

Red  Cedar  and  Valentine,  seized  by 
the  colossal  wave  produced  by  this  tre 
mendous  clash,  turned  round  and  round 
for  some  moments,  but  were  then  hasti 
ly  separated,  and  an  impassible  gulf 
opened  between  them. 

At  the  same  instant  a  cry  of  horrible 
pain  echoed  through  the  air. 

"  There  I"  Red  Cedar  yelled,  « I  told 
you  I  would  only  give  you  your  daugh 
ter  dead — come  and  take  her!" 

And  with  a  demoniac  laugh,  he  buried 
his  knife  in  Dona  Clara's  bosom. 


The  poor  girl  fell  on  her  knees,  clasp 
ed  her  hands,  and  expired,  crying  for  the 
last  time : 

"Father!  father!" 

"  Oh  !"  Don  Miguel  shrieked,  "  woe! 
woe!"  and  he  fell  unconscious  on  the 
ground. 

At  the  sight  of  this  cowardly  act,  Val 
entine,  rendered  powerless,  writhed  his 
hands  in  despair. 

Curumilla  raised  his  rifle,  and  ere  Red 
Cedar  could  start  his  horse  at  a  gallop, 
fired  ;  but  the  bullet,  badly  aimed,  did 
not  strike  the  bandit,  who  uttered  a  yell 
of  triumph,  and  started  at  full  speed. 

"Oh!"  Valentine  shouted,  "1  swenr 
by  Heaven  t  will  have  that  monster's 
life !" 

The  shock  we  just  alluded  to  was  the 
last  effort  of  the  earthquake,  though 
there  were  a  few  more  scarcely  felt  os 
cillations,  as  if  the  earth  were  seeking 
to  regain  its  balance,  which  it  had  mo 
mentarily  lost. 

The  Apaches,  carried  away  in  their 
canoes,  had  already  gained  a  considera 
ble  distance;  the  fire  was  expiring  for 
want  of  nourishment  on  the  ground, 
which  had  been  inundated  by  the  waters 
of  the  river. 

In  spite  of  the  help  lavished  on  him, 
by  his  friends,  Don  Miguel  did  not  re 
turn  to  life  for  a  long  time. 

The  general  approached  the  hunter, 
who  was  leaning,  gloomy  and  pensive, 
on  his  rifle,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  space. 

"  What  are  we  doing  here?"  he  said 
to  him ;  "  why  do  we  not  resume  our 
pursuit  of  that  villain  T; 

"  Because,"  Valentine  replied,  in  a 
mournful  voice,  "  we  must  pay  the  last 
duties  to  his  victim." 

The  general  bowed,  and  an  hour  later 
the  hunters  placed  Dona  Clara's  bod/ 
n  the  ground. 

Don  Miguel,  supported  by  the  gene 
ral  and  his  son,  wept  over  the  grave 
which  contained  his  child. 

When  the  Indian  Chief  had  filled  up 
the  hole,  and  rolled  on  to  it  rocks,  lest 
t  might  be  profaned  by  wild  beasts, 
Valentine  seized  his  friend's  hand,  and 
Dressed  it  forcibly. 

"  Don  Miguel,"  he  said  to  him,  "  wo 
men  weep,  men  avenge  themselves." 

"  Oh,  yes !"  the  haciendero  cried,  with 


152 


THE    PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 


savage 
aiice!" 


energy 


vengeance  !     venge- 


But,  alas !  this  cry,  uttered  over  a 
scarce-closed  lomb,  died  uut  without  an 
echo. 

Red  Cedar  and  his  companions  had 
disappeared  in  the  inextricable  windings 
of  the  desert. 

Many  days  must  yet  elapse  before 


the  so  greatly  desired  hour  of  vengeance 
arrived,  for  GOD,  whose  designs  are  in 
scrutable,  had  not  yet  said,  Enough  ! 

[The  further  adventures  of  the  hun 
ters  and  the  fate  of  Red  Cedar  have  yet 
to  be  described,  in  the  last  volume  of 
this  series,  entitled  "THE  TRAPPER'S 
DAUGHTER,"  which  will  speedily  ap 
pear.] 


THE  END. 


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The  ChanningS.     By  Mrs.  Henry  Wood,  author  of  "  The  Earl's  Heirs." 
The  Earl's  Heirs.     By  Mrs.  Henry  Wood,  author  of  "  The  Channings." 
The  Flirt.     By  Mrs.  Grey,  author  of  the  "  Gambler's  Wife." 
The  Trail  Hunter.     By  Gustave  Aimard,  author  of  "Prairie  Flower." 

The  Pirates  of  the  Prairies.    By  Gustave  Aimard. 

The  Indian  Scout.     By  Gustave  Aimard,  author  of  the  "  T  -ail  Hunter." 
The  Prairie  Flower.     By  Gustave  Aimard,  author  of  the  "Indian  Scout." 
For  Better,  For  Worse.     From  "  Temple  Bar."  A  Charming  Love  Story. 
The  Dead  Secret.     By  Wilkie  Collins,  author  of  the  "  Woman  in  White." 
Hide  and  Seek.     By  Wilkie  Collins,  author  of  the  "Dead  Secret." 
After  Dark.    By  Wilkie  Collins,  author  of  "  Hide  and  Seek,"  "Dead  Secret." 

Confessions  of  a  Pretty  Woman.    By  Miss  Pardoe. 

The  Jealous  Wife.     By  Miss  Pardoe,  author  of  the  "  Wife's  Trials. 
The  Wife's  Trials.     By  Miss  Pardoe,  author  of  the  "Jealous  Wife." 
The  Rival  Beauties.     By  Miss  Pardoe,  author  of  the  "  Jealous  Wife." 
Romance  Of  the  Harem.    By  Miss  Pardoe,  author  of  "  Rival  Beauties." 

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The  Little  Beauty.   By  Mrs.  Grey,  author  of  "  Flirt"  and  "  Gambler's  Wife." 

The  Gipsy's  Prophecy.     By  Mrs.  Emma  D.  E.  N.  Southworth. 

The  Mother-in-Law.     By  Mrs.  Emma  D.  E.  N.  Southworth. 

Cousin  Harry.     By  Mrs.  Grey,  author  of  "  The  Flirt"  and  "  Little  Beauty." 

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§  PEAK  ING  THE  TRUTH  FOR  A   DAY. 
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By  MM.  HBNBY 


Authorof  "  The  Earl's  Heirs.' 

THE    CASTLE'S   HEIR. 

WOOD,  Author  of"  The  Earl  s  Heir 

A  LIFE'S  SECRET.    By  Mrs.  HENRY  WOOD, 
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T.   B.  PETEESON    &   BROTHERS'    LIST   OF   BOUND   BOOKS. 


MRS.    SOtTTHWORTH'S  WORKS. 

Tb«  Haunted  Homestead.    Two  vols.,  paper 

cover.  Price  On«  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  TO!.,  cloth,  $125. 
The  Lady  of  the  Isle.  Complete  in  two  vols 

paper  cover.  Price  $1.00  ;  01  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
The  Two  Sisters.  Complete  in  two  volumes, 

paper  cover.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
The  Three  Beauties.  Complete  in  two  vols., 

paper  cover.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  v  A.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
Vivia.  The  Secret  of  Power.  Two  vols.j 

paper  cover.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
India.  The  Pearl  of  Pearl  River.  Two 

vole.,  paper  cover.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
The  "Wife's  Victory.  Two  vols.,  paper  cover. 

Pri*e  Oae  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25.    I 


The  Lost  Heiress.     Two  volumes,  paper  cover, 

Prl»  On«  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
The  Missing  Bride.    Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 

Price  One  Dollar  ;  er  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
Retribution  s  A  Tale  of  Passion.  Two  vrls., 

paper  cover.    Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
The  Cmrse  of  Clifton.    Two  vols.,  paper  cover. 

Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
The  Discarded  Daughter.    Two  vols.,  paper 

cover.    Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
The  Deserted  Wife.    Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 

Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
The  Jealous  Husband.    Two  volumes,  paper 

cover.    Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
Courtship  and   Matrimony.    Two  vols.,  pa 

per  cover.    Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
ff  he  Belle  of  Washington.    Two  vols.,  paper 

cover.    Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
Fhe  Initials.     A  Love  Story.    Two  vols.,  pa 

per  cover.    Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  bound  in  cloth,  $1.25. 
Kate  Aylesford.    Two  vols.,  paper  cover.    Price 

ftae  Dollar  ;  or  bound  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
The  Dead   Secret.4kTwo  volumes,  paper  cover 

Priee  One  Dollar;  or  bound  In  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25, 

WORKS  BY  THE  BKST  AUTHORS. 
fcriczy  Glenn;  or,  The  Trials  of  a  Seam** 

stress.    By  T.  8.  Arthur.      Complete  in  one  vol., 

flJoth,  gilt.  Price  $1.25,  or  in  two  vols.,  paper  cover,  $1. 
idemofrs    of   Vidocq,    Principal  Agent  of   the 

French  Police.    Written  by  Himself.    With  illus 

trative  engravings.     Two    volumes,    paper   cover. 

Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
Wild  Southern  Scenes.    By  author  of  "Wild 

Western  Scenes.  "    Two  volumes,  paper  cover.    Price 

One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
«Le  Adopted  Heir.  By  Miss  Pardoe.  Two  vols., 

paper.    Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  cloth,  $1.25. 
Lola  Montez'  Lectures  and  Life.  Two  vols., 

papercover.     Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
Harris's  Explorations  in  South    Africa. 

Bjr  Major  Cornwallis  Harris.    One  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
l»on  Quixotte.—  Life  and  Adventures  of 

Don  Qnixotte.    One  volume,  cloth,  $1.25. 
The  Old  Stone  Mansion.    By  Charles  J.  Peter- 

•oa.  Two  vols.,  paper.   Price  $1.00;  or  in  cloth,  $1.25. 
Indiana.  By  author  of  "  Consuelo,"  etc.  Two  vcls., 

paper  cover.    Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
The  Q,uaker  Soldier;  or,  The  British  in 

Philadelphia.    By  a  noted  Judge.     Two  vcis., 

paper  cover.    Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  cloth,  $1.25. 
Cnrrer  Lyle  5  or,  The  Autobiography  of 

jam  Aetress.     By  Louise  Reeder.    Two  volumes, 

paper  cover.     Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
Life  and  Beauties  of  Fanny  Fern.    Two 

vols.,  paper,  price  $1.00  ;  or  in  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
The  Roman  Traitor.    By  H.  W.  Herbert.  Two 

volumes,  paper.     Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
The    Lady's    Work-Table  Book.    Full  of 

plates.  Bound  in  crimson  cloth,  gilt.  Price  One  Dollar. 
The  Ladies'  Complete  Guide  to  Needle 

work   and  Embroidery.    Tho  best  wn-k  on 

this  suDject  over  published.     Cloth.     Price  $1.25. 


HUMOROUS  ILLUSTRATED  WORKS, 

Major    Jones'    Courtship    and    Travel* 

Beautifully  illustrated.   One  vol.,  cloth.   Price  $1.2A> 

High  Life  in  New  York.  By  Jonathan  SHck 
Beautfully  Illustrated.  Two  volumes,  paper  covoi 
Price  One  Dollar ;  or  bound  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1,26. 

Major  Jones'  Scenes  in  Georgfau  Full  ot 
beautiful  illustrations.  One  vol.,  cloth.  Price  $1.2ft. 

Judge  Haliburton's  Tankee  Stories. 
Two  vols.,  paper  cover.  Price  $1.00 ;  or  cloth,  $1.28. 

Simon  Suggs'  Adventures  and  Travel* 
Illustrated.  One  volume,  cloth.  Price  $1.25. 

Humors  of  Falconbridge.  Two  vols.,  papa 
cover.  .Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1,2». 

Piney  Woods  Tavern;  or,  Sam  Slick  im 
Texas.  Cloth,  $1.25 ;  or  2  vols.,  paper  cover,  $1.00 

Sam  Slick,  the  Clockmaker.  By  Jadg* 
Haliburton.  Illustrated.  One  volume,  cloth,  $1.26  , 
or  two  volumes,  paper  cover,  $1.00. 

The     Swamp    Doctor's    Adventures    i» 
the  South-West.    Containing  the  whole  of  t>- 
Louisiana  Swamp  Doctor  ;  Streaky  of  Squatter  Lifr 
and  Far- Western  Scenes ;  in  a  Series  of  Forty-Tr~ 
Hnmorous  Southern  and  Western  Sketches,  deecr^ 
tive  of  Incident  and  Character.    With  14  Illustration 
from  designs  by  Darley.     Cloth.     Price  $1.26. 

Major  Thorpe's  Scenes  in  Arkansas*  > 
containing  the  whole  01  »te  n  Quarter  Race  in  Ken. 
tucky,"  and  "  Bob  Herring,  the  Arkansas  B«ai 
Hunter,"  to  which  is  added  the  "  Drama  in  Poker- 
ville."  With  Sixteen  illustrations  from  Designs  bj 
Darley.  Complete  in  one  volume,  cloth.  Price  $1.2f* 

The  Big  Bear's  Adventures  and  Tr»v.< 
els  :  containing  the  whole  of  the  Adventures  ant 
Travels  of  the  "  Big  Bear  of  Arkansaw, "  and  "  Straf 
Subjects."  With  Eighteen  Illustrations  frcn.  Origl 
nal  Designs  by  Darley.  One  vol.,  bound.  Pric«  $1.JS 

Sol  Smith's  Adventures  and  Travel* 
Beautifully  illustrated.  One  volume,  cloth,  $1.25. 

Billy  Burton's  Humorous  Sketches 
Illustrated  by  Darley.  One  volume,  cloth,  $1.25. 

Joe  Neal's  Adventures  and  Sketches 
Illustrated  by  Darley.  One  volume,  cloth,  $1.25. 

South-Western  Sketches  of  Hum-v* 
With  illustrations  by  Darley.  One  vol.,  cloth,  $!.£• 

Sam  Slick's  Yankee  Stories  and  Letter*. 
By  Judge  Haliburton.  One  volume,  cloth,  $1.29. 

Adventures  of  Captain  Priest.    Two  vols,, 

paper  cover*.     Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
Major  O'Regan's  and  Captain  Farrago'* 

Adventures  and  Travels.    By  Judge Brech 

enridge.     One  volume,  cloth,  $1.25 
Frank  Forester's    Sporting    Scenes  and 

Characters.  Illustrated.  Two  vole.,  uoth,  $2.50. 

MRS.  ANN   S.   STEPHENS'  WORKS. 
The    Heiress.    Two  volumes,  paper  cover.    Priot 

One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  fot  $1.25. 
Mary    Derwent.     Two  volumes,    paper    oovec. 

Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.26. 
Fashion   and   Famine.     Two  volnn.es,  paper 

cover.     Price  $1.00;   or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.2S. 
The    Old    Homestead.     Two  volumes, 

cover.    Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,! 

DOW'S     PATENT     SERMONS. 

49~  Each  volume,  or  series,  is  complete  in  itself,  *ad 
volumes  are  sold  separately  to  any  one,  or  in  «ets. 
Dow's     Short    Patent    Sermons.      First 

Series.    By  Dow,  Jr.    Containing  123  Sermons 

Complete  in  one  vol.,  bound  in  cloth,  for  One  Dollu. 
Dow's   Short    Patent  Sermons.     Second 

Series.     By  Dow,  Jr.    Containing  144  benuona. 

Complete  in  one  vol.,  bound  in  cloth,  for  One  Dollar. 
Dow's   Short    Patent    Sermons.      Third 

Series.     By  Dow,  Jr.     Containing  116  Serraona. 

Complete  in  oue  vol.,  bonnd  in  cloth,  for  One  Dollar. 
Dow's    Short   Patent   Sermons.    Fourth 

Series.     By  Dow,  Jr.     Containing  152  Sermon*. 

Complete  in  one  vol.,  bound  in  cloth,  for  One  Dollar. 


topiea  of  any  of  tlxe  above  Worka  wil  be  sent  bv  Mail,  Free  of  Postage,  on  receip*  of  the  Prie*. 


T.  B.  PETERSON   &  BROTHERS'    LIST   OF   BOUND   BOOKS. 


COOK    BOOKS. 

Petersons'  New  Cook  Book ;  or,  Usefnl  Re 
ceipts  for  the  Housewife  and  the  uninitiated.  Full 
of  valuable  receipts,  all  original  aud  never  before 
published,  all  of  which  will  be  found  to  be  very 
ralnable  aud  of  daily  use.  Price  $1.25. 

Hiss  Leslie's  New  Cookery  Book.  Being  the 
largest,  best,  and  in»st  complete  Cook  Book  ever  got 
op  by  Miss  Leslie.  One  volume,  bound.  Price  $1.25. 

Widdifleld's  New  Cook  Book,  or,  Practical 
Receipts  for  the  Housewife.  Cloth.  Price  One  Dollar. 

fir*.  Hale's  New  Cook  Book.  By  Mrs.  Sarah 
J.  Hale.  0"e  volume,  bound.  Price  One  Dollar. 

HJ*s  Leslie's  New  Receipts  for  Cooking. 
Complete  ia  one  volume,  bound.  Price  One  Dollar. 

MRS.   BALE'S   RECEIPTS. 
•Irs.    Male's    Receipts    for  the    Million. 

Containing  4,545  Receipts.     By  Mrs.  Sarah  J.  Hale. 
One  volume,  800  pages,  strongly  bound.    Price,  $1.25. 

HISS    LESLIE'S    BEHAVIOUR    BOOK. 
Miss    Leslie's    Behaviour    Book.     A  com 
plete  Guide  aud  Manual  for  Ladies.     Price  $1.25. 

DOESTICKS'    BOOKS. 
Doesticks-  Letters.  Complete  in  two  vols.,  paper 

cover.    Price  One  Dollar ;  or  iu  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
Pltt-ri-bus-tn.li.     Complete  in  two  vols.,  paper 

cover.     Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.23. 
flic  Elephant  Club.    Complete  in   two  volu., 

paper  cover.    Price  -$1.00 ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
Witch  es  of  New  York.    Ccxaplete  in  two  vola., 

pager  cover.    Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 

GEORGE     LIPPARD'S     WORKS. 
I*e£ends  of  the  American  Revolution 

or,  Washiagton  and  his  Generals.     Cloth,  $1.25. 
The  Quaker  City  }  or,  The  Monks  of  Monk  HalL 

Oae  volume,  cloth.     Price  $1.25. 
Pan!    Ardenheimj   the    Monk  of  Wissahikon. 

Oue  volume,  cloth.     Price  $1.25. 

Blanche    of  Brandywine.    A  Revolutionary 
One  volume,  cloth.    Price  $l.i& 


EUGENE     SUE'S    GREAT    WOlvKS. 

tllnstrated  Wandering  Jew.  With  Eighty- 
seven  large  Illustrations.  One  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 

•Hysterics    of  Paris}    and  Gerolsteiny  the 

Sequel  to  it.     One  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
fitartin  the  Foundling.    Beautifully  Illustra 
ted.    One  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 

EMERSON     BENNETT'S     WORKS. 

The  Border  Rover.  A  Companion  to  the 
"  Prairie  Flower."  Bound  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

Viola ;  or,  Adventures  in  the  Far  South- West. 
Bound  in  oue  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

Clara  Moreland  ;  or,  Adventures  in  the  Far 
South-West.  Bound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  $1.25. 

The  Bride  of  the  Wilderness.  Bound  in 
one  yolume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

Kate  Clarendon  ;  or,  Necromancy  in  the  Wilder 
ness.  Bouud  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

Bllen  Norbury;  or,  The  Adventures  of  an  Or 
phan.  Bound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

The  Forged  Will ;  or,  Retribution  and  Crime. 
(-  Bound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

WAVERLEY    NOVELS. 

"Waverley  Novels.  By  Sir  Walter  Scott 
With  a  magnificent  Portrait  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  en 
graved  from  the  last  Portrait  for  which  be  ever  sat, 
at  AbbotUford,  with  his  Autograph  under  it.  This 
edition  is  complete  in  Five  large  octavo  volumes, 
With  handsomely  engraved  steel  Title  Pages  to  each 
Tolume,  the  whole  being  neatly  and  handsomely 
bound  in  e'.oth.  This  is  the  cheapest  and  most  coin- 
ptete  and  perfect  edition  of  the  W»v«rley  Novels 
published  in  the  world,  as  it  contains  all  the  Author's 
last  additions  and  corrections.  Price  Six  Dollars 


CHARLES    LEVER  S    WORKS. 

Charles  D'Malley,  fine  ed.,  one  vol.,  cloth, $1.A 
Harry  Lorrequer,  fine  ed.,  one  vol.,  cloth,.,  l.fc 
Jack  Hinton,  fine  edition,  one  vol.,  cloth....  1.59 
Davenport  Dunn,  fine  ed.,  one  vol.,  cloth,.  1.0C 
Tom  Burke  of  Ours,  fine  ed.,  1  voi  ,  cloth,.  1.21 
Arthur  O'Leary,  fine  ed.  oae  vol.,  cloth...  1.86 

Con  Cregan,  fine  edition,  one  TO!.,  cloth, 1.2ft 

Knight  of  Gwynne,  fine  ed.,  1  vol.,  cloth,.  1.31 
Valentine  Vox,  fine  edition,  one  vol.,  cloth,.  '-.00 
Ten  Thousand  a  Year,  flneed.  1  vol.,»'*«B.  1  99 

REYNOLDS9    GREAT     WORKS. 

Mysteries    of    the    Court     of     Londom* 

Complete  in  one  large  vol.,  bound  in  cloth,  for  $1.46. 

Rose  Foster;  or,  "The  Second  Series  of  the  Mys 
teries  of  the  Court  of  London."  1  vol.,  cloth.  $1.75. 

Caroline  of  Brunswick  $  or,  the  "  Third 
Series  of  the  Mysteries  of  the  Court  of  London,** 
Complete  in  one  large  vol.,  bound  iu  cloth,  for  $1.25 

Venetia  Trelawney ;  being  the  "Fourth  Series 
or  final  conclusion  of  the  Mysteries  of  the  Court  of 
London."  Complete  in  one  vol.,  in  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

Lord  Saxondale  5  or,  The  Court  of  Queen  Victoria. 
Complete  in  one  large  vol.,  bound  in  cloth,  for  $1.29. 

Count  Christoval*  The  "  Sequel  to  Lord  Saxon- 
dale."  Complete  in  one  vol.,  bound  in  cloth,  $1.25. 

Rosa  Lam/bert  ;  or,  The  Memoirs  of  an  Unfortn 
nate  Woman.  One  vol.,  bound  in  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

Mary  Price  ;  or,  The  Adventures  of  a  Servant 
Maid.  Complete  in  one  vol.,  bouni  in  ch'th,  for  $1  24 

Eustace  Quentin.  A  "  Sequel  to  Mary  Price.* 
Complete  iu  one  large  vol.,  bound  in  cloth,  for  $1.38 

Joseph  Wilmot;  or,  The  Memoirs  of  a  Mau-Ser 
vant.  Complete  in  one  vol.,  bound  in  clotk,  for  $1.20. 

The  Banker's  Daughter.  A  Sequel  to  "  Joseph 
Wilmot."  Complete  in  one  vol.,  bound  in  cloth,  $1.24 

Kenneth.  A  Romance  of  the  Highlands.  Com 
plete  iu  one  large  volume,  bound  in  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

The  Rye-House  Plot;  or,  Kuth,  the  Conspira 
tor's  Daughter.  One  volume,  bound  in  clofh,  $1.36. 

The  Necromancer.  A  Romance  of  the  Time* 
of  Henry  the  Eighth.  One  vol.,  bound  in  clotb,  $1 .20' 

ALEXANDER    DUMAS'    WTORKSU 
Count  of  Monte-Cristo.  By  Alexander  Duma*. 

Beautifully  illustrated.     One  volume,  cloth,  $1.25. 
The  Three  Guardsmen.   By  Alexander  Dtuna« 

Complete  iu  one  large  vol.,  bound  in  cloth,  for  $1.24 
Twenty  Years  After.    A  Sequel  to  the  "Thre* 

Guardsmen."    One  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25 
Bragelonne  ;   the  Son  of  Athos  :  being  tku 

continuation  of  "  Twenty  Years  After."    Cloth,  $1.25. 
The  Iron  Mask.    Being  the  continuation  and  con- 

clusioaofthe  "Three Guardsmen. "    Cloth,  $1.25. 
Louise  La  Va] 

end  of 
The  Memoirs  of  a  Physician.    Beautifully 

Illustrated.     One  volume,  cloth,  for $1.25. 
The     Queen's     Necklace.       A   Sftqnel  to    thg 

"Memoirs  of  a  Physician."    OM  re...  cloth,  $1.26. 
Six  Years  Later;  or,  Taking  of  the  BaatHe.  A  Con 

tinuation  of  "The  Queen's  Necklace."    Cloth,  $1.36 
Countess  of  Charny  ;  or,  The  Fall  of  the  Freocfc 

Monarchy.    Sequel  to  Six  Tears  Later.     Clotb,  $1.35. 
The  Adventuies  of  a   Marquis.     Complete 

iu  one  large  octavo  volume,  bound  in  cloth,  $1.25. 
The   Forty-Five   Guardsmen.    Beautifully 

Illustrated.     One  volume,  cloth.     Price  $1.25. 

The  Iron  Hand.     Full  of  beautiful  illustration* 

One  volume,  cloth.     Price  $1.25. 
Diana  of  Meridor;  or,  France  In  the  Sixteenth 

Century.     One  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
The  Conscript  Soldier.     A  Tale  of  the  Kmpirt 

Bound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  $1.26. 


;  La  Valliere  ;  or,  The  Second  Series  anil 
the  "Iron  Mask."    One  volume,  cloth,  $1.26. 


fepto  of  any  of  tfct  above  Work*  will  be  tent  by  Mail,  Free  of  Pottage,  em  Beoeipt  of  the  Price, 


T    B.  PETERSON   &   BROTHERS'    LIST   OF   BOUND   BOOKS. 


CHARLES     DICKENS'     WORKS. 
Pickwick   Papers.    One  vol.,  cloth,  Price  $1.50 

Nicholas  Nickleby.    One  vol.,  cloth 1.60 

David.  Copperfield.    One  vol.,  cloth, 1.50 

Oliver  Twist.    One  vol.,  cloth 1.60 

Bleak    House.    One  vol.,  cloth 1.60 

Little  Dorrit.    One  vol.,  cloth, 1.60 

Dembey  and  Son.    One  vol.,  cloth, 1.60 

Sketches  by  "Boz."    One  vol.,  cloth........  1.60 

Baruaby   Rmige.    One  vol.,  cloth, 1.66 

Martin  Chnzzlewit.    One  vol.,  cloth, 1.6C 

Old  Curiosity  Shop.    One  vol.,  cloth, 1.6C 

Christmas  Stories.    One  vol.,  cloth, 1.60 

Dickens'  New  Stories.  One  vol.,  cloth,..  1.5* 
A  Tale  of  Two  Cities.  One  vol.,  cloth,...  1.60 
American  Notes  &,  Pic-Nic  Papers.  1.60 

J.    B.    JONES*    GREAT    WORKS. 

Wild  Southern  Scenes.  By  author  of  "  Wild 
Western  Scenes."  Two  volumes,  paper  cover.  Price 
One  Dollar;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

The  Rival  Belles  ;  or,  Life  in  Washington.  By 
J  B.  Jones,  author  of  "Wild  Western  Scenes." 
Two  volumes,  paper.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  cloth,  $1.25. 

Freaks  of  Fortune  ;  or,  Life  and  Adv<-ii- 
tures  of  Ned  Lorn.  By  author  of  "  Rival 
Belles."  Two  vols.,  paper,  $1 ;  or  1  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 

Colonel  Vanderbomb's  Adventures  and 
Travels.  Two  vols.,  paper,  $1.00 ;  or  cloth,  $1.25. 

AINSWORTH'S    BEST     BOOKS. 
Lives  of  Jncii.  gheppard  &  Guy  Fawkes. 

Illustrated.    One  volume,  cloth,  $1.25. 
The  Tower  of  London.    By  W.  H.  Ainsworth, 
With  over  100  Engravings.  One  volume,  cloth,  $1 .26. 

BY     THE     BEST    AUTHORS. 

¥n«  False  Lovers.  By  George  Sand.  Two  vols., 
paper  cover.  Price  $1 .00  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.26. 

The  Old  Vicarage.  By  Mrs.  Hubback.  Two 
vols.,  pap^r  cover.  Price  $1 .00  ;  or  in  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

tfadame  Rachel's  Travels  in  the  New- 
World.  Two  vole.,  paper,  $1.00 ;  or  in  cloth,  $1.25. 

The  Coquette  j  or,  The  Life  of  Eliza 
Whavton.  2  vols.,  paper,  $1.00;  or  in  cloth,  $1.25. 

The  Carpenter's  Daughter.  By  W.  G.  S. 
Whitman.  Two  vols.,  paper,  $1.00 ;  or  in  cloth,  $1.25. 

Tlie  Four  Heiresses.  By  Augustin  Kennerly. 
Two  vols.,  paper.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  cloth,  $1.25. 

My  First  Season  in  Society.  By  Beatrice 
Reynolds.  Two  vols.,  paper,  $1.00 ;  or  in  cloth,  $1.25. 

The  Orphan  Girl.  By  Alice  Gray.  Two  vols., 
paper.  Price  $1.00 ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

The  Orphans  of  Unswalden.  By  Mrs.  Shelley. 
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The  Lovers.  By  John  Ballon.  Two  vols.,  paper 
cover.  Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

The  Beautiful  Blonde.  Two  volumes,  paper 
oover.  Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 

•  aratoga.  A  Story  of  1787.  Two  vols.,  paper  cover. 
Trice  Cue  Dollar ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  $1.25. 

The  Bohemians  in  London.  By  Edward  M. 
WMtty,  Esq.,  Member  of  Parliament.  Two  volumes, 
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Magdalen;  The  Enchantress.  By  Miss 
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The  K.  N.  Pepper  Papers.  Complete  in  two 
vols.,  paper.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 

Frontier  Life  ;  or,  Following  the  Drum. 
Two  vols.,  paper.  Price  $1.00 ;  or  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 

Telegraphs  on  Land  and  Ocean,  with 
Maps,  and  a  Portrait  of  Cyrus  W.  Field.  Two  vols., 
paper.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  clcth,  for  $1.25. 
Christy  and  White's  Complete  Ethio 
pian  Melodies,  containing  291  songs,  and  beau 
tifully  bound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  gilt.  Price  $1.00. 


FRAJVK    E.    SMEDLEY'S     WORKS. 
Harry  Coverdale's  Courtship  and  Mar* 

riage.  Two  vols.,  paper.  Price  $1.00 ;  or  cloth,  $1.25. 
Lorrimer    Littlegood.    By  author  of  "Franll 

Fairlegh. "  Two  vols.,  paper.  Price  $1 ;  or  cloth,  $1  2& 
Frank  Fairlegh  j  or,  Scenes  in  the  Life  of  a  Prt 

vate  Pupil.    Complete  in  one  volume,  cloth,  $1.25. 
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Illustrated.    One  volume,  ckth.     Price  $1.26. 
Fortunes     and     Misfortunes    of    Havfp 

Racket  Scapegrace.    Cloth.    Price  $1.25. 

HERMAN    MELVILLE'S    BOOKS. 
Fifty  Years  in  Exile.    Complete  in  two  rol*. 
paper  cover.    Price  $1.00 ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.M 
The   Masquerade.    Complete  in  two  volnise*j 

paper  cover.     Price  $1.00 ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.26 
The  Enchanted  Isles.    Complete  in  two  voi*^ 

paper  cover.    Price  $1.00 ;  or  in  one  vol. ,  cloth,  $1. 25 

WORKS     BY    GOOD    AUTHORS. 
Petersons'  Complete  Coin  Book,  containing 

Perfect  Fac-Similes  of  all  the  various  Gold,  Silver 
and  other  Metallic  Coins,  tnronghout  the  World,  n&ui 
Two  Thousand  in  all,  being  the  most  complete  Coi» 
Book  in  the  World,  and  with  the  present  United 
States  Mint  Value  of  each  Cc-in  under  it.  One  vol 
ume,  cloth.  Price  $1.25. 

Liebig's  Complete  "Works  on  Chemistry. 
One  volume,  cloth.  Price  $1.50. 

The  Works  of  Captain  Marryatt.  Com 
plete  in  one  royal  octavo  volume,  bound.  Price  $2.50 

The  Devoted  Bride  $  or,  the  Rebel  Lover. 
A  Tale  of  Bacon's  Rebellion.  By  St.  George  Tucket 
Two  vols.,  paper  cover.  Price $1.00  ;  orin cloth,  $1.25. 

Flirtation.  By  Catharine  Sinclair.  Two  vole, 
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The  Bachelor.  An  Autobiography.  Two  vols«, 
paper.  Price  $1.00 ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.3f 

Unmarried  Life.  Two  volumes,  paper  cover 
Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1  iff 

Wedlock  ;  or,  Two  Ways  to  Marry.  Tore 
vols.,  paper.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1  2EL 

The  Orphan's  Trials.  Two  vols.,  paper  covet 
Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.28 

Family  Pride.  By  author  of  "Pique."  Two  vols. 
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The  Devoted  Sister.  By  author  of  "  Margarrt 
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The  King's  Daughter.  By  Eugene  Sue.  Tw« 
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Mother  and  Daughter.  By  Mrs.  Percy  B 
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Modern  Chivalry.  Two  volumes,  paper  covei 
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The  Farmer's  Guide  to  Farming  and 
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Monteith's  French,  German,  Spanish, 
Latin  and  Italian  Languages  without 
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Hope  Marshall;  or,  High  Life  in  Wash 
ington.  By  Mrs.  N.  P.  Lasselle.  Two  vols.,  pap« 
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Mrs.  Caroline  Lee  Hcntz'  Poetical 
Works.  Complete  in  one  volume,  clcth,  for  |i  2ft. 

The  Pride  of  Life.  By  author  of  "  The  He*. 
pecked  Husband."  One  volume,  cloth,  price  $1.26. 

The  Cabin  and  Parlor.  By  J.  Thornto* 
Randolph.  One  volume,  cloth,  price  $1.25. 

Wilfred  Montressor ;  or,  New  York  Life  R* 
posed  ;  or  the  Exposition  of  the  Secret  Order  of  th« 
Seven.  With  87  Engravings.  One  vol.,  cloth,  $1.2f 

Lucy  Boston  ;  or,  Woman's  Rights.    Cloth,  $1.25 

The  Two  Cousins.  By  P.  Hamilton  Myers 
One  volume,  cloth.  Price  $1.25. 

Courtenay  Hall.  A  True  Tale  of  Virginia  Life 
By  James  T.  Randolph,  Esq.  One  vol.,  cloth,  $1.29 

Edgar  Trevor.  An  Autobiography.  Two  voLn. 
paper  cover.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  In  cloth,  for  $1.26. 


Copies  of  any  of  the  above  Works,  will  be  seat  ty  KLail,  Free  of  Postage,  on  receipt  of  the  Fries. 


T,  B,  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS, 


The  Books  in  this  Catalogue  are  the  Best  and  Latest  Publications  by  the  most  Popular  and  Cola- 
ferated  Writers  in  the  World.     They  are  also  the  most  Readable  and  Entertaining  Books  published. 

Suitable  for  the  Parlor,  Library,  Sitting  Boom,  Railroad,  Steamboat,  or  Chamber  Reading. 

Pttblifhed  and  for  Sale  by  T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS,  Philadelphia, 

J@*  Booksellers,  News  Agents,  Pedlers,  etc.,  will  be  Supplied  at  ve*y  Low  Bates.  -^J 

•pies  of  any  of  Petersons'  Publications,  or  any  other  work  or  works  Advertised,  Published,  «f 
otioed  by  any  one  at  all,  in  any  place,  will  be  cent  by  us,  2  ree  of  Postage,  on  receipt  of 


SPECIAL    NOTICE    TO    BOOKSELLERS    AND    DEALERS, 


T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS  would  state  that 
fchey  are  now  selling  all  their  Publications  at  prices 
Which  are,  in  themselves,  »  very  special  inducement  for 
dealers,  whatever  may  be  the  extent  of  their  trade,  to 
open  accounts  with  them  for  them,  direct,  instead  of 
ordering  them  through  other  houses.  But,  as  an  ad 
ditional  inducement  for  dealers  to  open  accounts  with 
HS,  we  will  furnish  them  with  ample  supplies  of  editors' 
eopie*  of  att  our  new  Publications,  whether  in  clath  or 
paper,  together  with  circulars  and  show-bills.  Our 
large  discounts,  as  is  already  well  known,  are  larger 
than  those  of  any  other  house  in  the  trade ;  a  fact  which 
Will,  we  trust,  induce  all  dealers  who  are  not  already 
In  correspondence  with  us  to  give  us  a  trial. 

We  deal  in  and  supply  every  thing  of  interest  to  the 
Trade,  and  sell  at  prices  which  cannot  fail  to  give  the 
most  thorough  satisfaction.  Trouble,  care  and  attention 
Bot  regarded  as  of  any  moment,  so  long  as  they  result 
In  satisfying  our  friends.  The  attention  of  the  Trade 
Is  solicited  to  the  large  list  of  Useful  and  Standard 
Worki,  Original  and  Reprint  Works,  in  every  depart- 
•Mnt  of  literature  issued  by  us.  This  list  contains  the 
vary  beet  and  most  saleable  works  in  the  market,  and 
Will  be  continually  increased  by  the  addition  of  all  the 


new  first-class  Publications,  as  well  as  all  the  most  ase- 
fnl  works  of  the  age.  We  publish  near  one  hundre4 
editions  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  and  Charles  Dickea** 
works,  alone,  as  well  as  Miss  Leslie's,  Mrs.  Widdifield's, 
Mrs.  Bale's,  and  all  the  other  best  Cook  Books  issued. 

Country  Dealers  will  find  that  by  ordering  from  us, 
all  their  orders  will  be  filled  as  quickly,  and  on  a* 
favorable  terms,  as  if  they  were  on  the  spot  themselves. 
They  will  find  us  early,  prompt  and  energetic,  and  al 
ways  watchful  of  their  interests.  We  also  wish  it  dis 
tinctly  understood,  that  in  order  to  give  our  customer* 
extra  facilities,  we  will  enclose  in  the  package  (without 
extra  charge)  any  thing  else  they  may  order  and  havt 
to  receive  from  aty  other  house  in  Philadelphia,  BO  that 
it  may  reach  them  without  any  extra  cost. 

Dealers  and  strangers  visiting  the  city,  and  all  other*, 
are  invited  to  call  and  examine  our  large  and  well* 
assorted  stock,  embracing  ample  supplies  in  every 
branch  of  English  literature,  and  comprising  worn 
in  all  styles  of  bindings,  from  the  most  costly  to  tha 
cheapest  editions.  Persons  wishing  any  thing  from  at 
at  all,  have  only  to  enclose  any  amount  of  money  th/sy 
please,  and  order  what  they  wish,  and  they  will  then 
receive  them  at  once. 


:  To  those  with  whom  we  have  no  open  account,  Cash  with  order,  Five  per 
off,  or  responsible  city  reference. 


CAROLINE   LEE   HERTZ'S   WORKS. 

The  Lost  Daughter  *  and  Other  Stories  ef  the 
Heart.  (Just  published.)  Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 
Price  One  Dollar ;  or  bound  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 

The  Planter's  Northern  Bride.  Two  vol 
umes,  patfer  cover,  600  pages.  Price  One  Dollar ;  or 
bound  in  one  voinme,  cloth,  for  $1.26. 

Linda.  The  Young  Pilot  of  the  Belle 
Creole.  Two  volumes,  paper  cover.  Price  One 
Dollar ;  or  bound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

Robert  Graham.  The  Sequel  to,  and  Continua 
tion  of  Linda.  Two  volumes,  paper  cover.  Price  One 
Dollar  ;  or  bound  in  one  volume.,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

Courtship  and  Marriage.  Two  vols.,  paper 
cover.  Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 

Elena;  or,  The  Sr-ow  Bird.  Two  vols.,  paper 
cover.  Price  One  Dollar ;  or  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 

Blarcn*  Warland.  Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 
Price  One  Dollar ;  or%onnd  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 

Love  after  Marriage.  Two  vols.,  paper  cover. 
Price  One  Dollar ;  ot  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

Roline  j  or,  Magnolia  Vale.  Two  vols.,  paper 
cover.  Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 

The  Banished  Son.  Two  vols.,  paper  cover. 
Prioe  One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

Helen  and  Arthur.  Two  volumes  paper  cover. 
Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

The  Planter's  Daughter.  Two  vols.,  paper 
cover  Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 

The  whole  of  the  above  are  also  published  in  a  very 
toe  style,  bound  in  full  Crimson,  with  gilt  edges,  fall 
gilt  Bides,  gilt  backs,  etc.,  making  them  the  best  books 
lor  presentation,  at  the  price,  published.  Price  of  either 
tut  in  this  style,  Two  Dollars  a  copy. 


MISS    BREMER'S    NEW   WORKS. 
The  Father  and  Daughter.  By  Fradrika  Br*> 

mer.  Two  vols.,  paper.    Price  $1.00  ;  or  cloth,  $1.25. 
The    Four    Sisters.     Two  vole.,   paper  cover 

Price  One  Dollar  •  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.26. 
The  Neighbors.    Two  vols.,  paper  cover.    Price 

Cue  Dollar ;  or  in  one  volume  cloth,  for  $1.26. 
The   Home.     Two  volumes,  paper  cover.     Priet 

One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.26. 

MRS..  ANN  S.  STEPHENS'  WORKS. 

The    Heiress.    Two  volumes,  paper  cover.    Price 

One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  One  Dollar 

and  Twenty-Five  Cents. 
Mary    Derwent.     Two  volumes,   paper   cover. 

Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.26. 
Fashion  and   Famine.     Two  volume*,  papet 

cover.     Price  $1.00;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.86. 
The    Old    Homestead.     Two  volume*,  ptper 

cover.    Price  One  Dollar .  or  in  oie  vol.  cloth,  f l.Jft, 

MISS    LESLIE'S   BEHAVIOUR  ROOK. 

Miss  Leslie's  Behaviour  Book.  A  com- 
pleteKiuide  and  Manual  for  Ladies,  as  regards  their 
conversation,  manners,  dress,  introduction,  entree  to 
society ;  shopping ;  conduct  in  the  street ;  at  places 
of  amusement ;  in  traveling  ;  at  the  table,  either  at 
home,  \i>  company,  or  at  hotels ;  deportment  in  gen 
tlemen  s  society ;  lips ;  complexion  ;  teeth  ;  hands,* 
the  hair,  Ac.,  &c.  With  full  instructions  and  advice 
in  letter-writting ;  receiving  presents;  incorr»«i 
words ;  borrowing ;  obligations  to  gentlemen ;  detx> 
rum  in  church  ;  at  evening  parties ;  and  full  sugges 
tions  in  bad  practices  and  habits  easily  contracted, 
which  no  young  lady  should  be  guilty  of,  4c.t  <bo 
Complete  in  one  large  bound  volume.  Price  $1.26. 


Copies  of  any  of  the  above  Works  vrl  be  sert  by  Mail,  Free  of  Postage,  on  receipt  of  Pritt 


T    B    PETERSON"  &  BROTHERS'  LIST   OF    PUBLICATIONS. 


MRS.   SOUTHWORTH'S  WORKS. 


Haunted  Homestead.    Two  vols.,  paper 

cover.  Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  ia  one  vol.,  eloth,  $1.  25. 
(Tli*  JLady  of  the  Isle.  Complete  in  two  vols., 

paper  cover.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  eloth,  $1.25. 
Tlie  Two  Sisters.  Complete  in  two  volumes, 

paper  cover.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
(The  Three  Beauties*  Complete  in  two  vols., 

paper  cover.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
Vivia.  The  Secret  of  Power.  Two  vols., 

paper  cover.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
India.  The  Pearl  of  Pearl  River.  Two 

Tola.,  paper  cover.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  cloth,  tor  $1.25. 
flThe  "Wife's  Victory.  Two  vols.,  paper  cover. 

Price  On«  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
The  Lost  Heiress.  Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 

Price  On*  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
Wfce  Missing  Bride.  Two  volumes,  pa 

Prioe  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth, 


per  »ver. 
for  $1.25. 


Retribution  :  A  Tale  of  Passion.  Two  vols., 

paper  cover.    Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
Vhe  Curse  of  Cliftopv.    Two  vols.,  paper  cover. 

Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
The  Discarded  Daughter  Two  vols.,  paper 

cover.  Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
The  Deserted  Wife.  Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 

Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
die  Jealous  Husband.  Two  volumes,  paper 

eov«r.    Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
Courtship  and  Matrimony.    Two  vols.,  pa 

per  cover.  Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
The  Belle  of  Washington.  Two  vols.,  paper 

cover.  Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
Yh«  Initials.  A  Love  Story.  Two  vols.,  pa 

per  cover.  Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  bound  in  cloth,  $1.35. 
Itat*  Aylesford.  Two  vols.,  paper  cover.  Price 

One  Dollar  ;  or  bound  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
Vhe  Dead   Secret.    Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 

Price  One  Dollar;  or  bound  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
The  Rival  Belles.  Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 

Prite  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
Che  Devoted  Bride  ;  or,  the  Rebel  Lover. 

Two  vols.,  paper  cover.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  cloth,  $1  .25. 

T.  S.  ARTHUR'S  NEW  WORK. 

Lizzy  Glenn  ;  or,  The  Trials  of  a  Seam- 
stress^  By  T.  S.  Arthur.  Complete  in  one  vol., 
bound  in  cloth  gilt.  Price  $1.25;  or  in  two  vol 
umes,  paper  cover,  for  One  Dollar. 

J.    A.  MAITLAND'S    GREAT   WORKS. 

The  Watchman.  Complete  in  two  large  volumes, 

paper  cover.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
(The  "Wanderer.  Complete  in  two  volumes,  paper 

cover.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
Che  Diary  of  an  Old  Doctor.  Complete  in 

two  volnues,  paper  cover.     Price  One  DC  liar  ;  01 

bound  in  c  1  3th  for  $1.25. 
Vhe    Lawyer's    Story.     Two  volumes,  paper 

cover.    Price  $1.00  ;  or  bound  in  cloth  for  $1.25. 
ftartaroe    A  Tale  of  Norway.  Highly  recom- 

Bianded  by  Washington  Irving.   Complete  in  two  vol- 

u*ibfc,  p&i  sr  cover.    Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  cloth,  for  $1.  25. 

C.  J.    PETERSON'S    WORKS. 

fPn*  Old   Stone  Mansion.     Complete  in  two 

ToU.,  paper.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
Kate  Aylesford.  A  Love  Story.  Two  vols. 

paper.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  eloth,  for  $1.25. 
Cruising  in  the  Last  "War.  By  Charles  J. 

Peterson.  Complete  in  one  volume.  Price  50  cents. 
The  Valley  Farm  ;  or,  The  Autobiography  of  an 

Orphan.  A  Companion  to  Jane  Eyre.  Price  25  cents. 
Grace  Dudley  *  or,  Arnold  at  Saratoga.  25  cents. 
Mabel  )  or,  Darkness  and  Dawn.  Two  vols.,  paper 

cover.    Price  $1.00.  ;  or  in  eloth,  $1.25.    (In  Prtui.) 


CHARL.ES    LEVER'S   WORKS. 

All  neatly  done  up  in  paper  covers. 

Charles  O'Malley, Price  60  erato 

Harry  u]Lorrequer, 60     •* 

Horace   Templeton, 60     * 

Tom   Burke  of  Ours, 66     ' 

Arthnr  O'l^eary, 60     * 

Jack  Hinton,  the  Guardsman,.     00     * 

The  Knight  of  Gwynne, 60     * 

Kate    O'Donoghue, 60     *• 

Con  Cregan,  the  Irish  Gil  Bias,    60     M 

Davenport  Dunn, 69     * 

A  complete  set  of  the  above  will  be  sold,  or  seat  *t 
any  one,  to  any  place,  free  of  postage,  for  $4.00., 

LIBRARY    EDITION. 

THIS  EDITION  is  complete  in  FOUR  large  oet*i» 
volumes,  containing  Charles  O'Malley,  Harry  Lorr«. 
quer,  Horace  Templeton,  Tom  Burke  of  Ours,  ArthBi 
O'Leary,  Jack  Hiuton  the  Guardsman,  The  Knight  of 
Gwynne,  Kate  O'Donoghue,  ete.,  handsomely  printed, 
and  bound  in  various  styles,  as  follows : 

Price  of  a  set  in  Black  cloth, $8.00 

"  "        Scarlet  cloth, :..„ 6.6fl 

"  "       Law  Library  sheep 7.00 

"        Half  Calf, 9.0T 

«           "       Half  Calf,  marbled  edges,  Prcnofa.lO  00 
«  «       Half  Calf,  antique law 

FINER    EDITIONS. 
Charles  O'Malley,  fine  ed.,  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.50 

«  «          Half  calf 2.00 

Harry  Lorrequer,  fine  ed.,  one  vol.,  cloth,  1.50 

«  «  HaJf  calf, 2.00 

Jack  Hinton,  fine  edition,  one  vol.,  eloth,...  1.68 

«  «  Half  calf. -  2.00 

Davenport  Dunn,  fine  ed.,  one  vol.,  cloth,.    1.60 

«  "        Half  calf 100 

Valentine  Vox,  fine  edition,  one  vol,  clotL,..  1.60 

«  «        Half  calf, 2.00 

*«  «<        cheap  edition,  paper  «»over     60 

Ten  Thousand  a  Year,  fine  ed.,  1  vol., cloth,  1  of 

«  "        Half  calf, i(X 

«  t«       cheap  edition,  paper  cover,  1.0C 

Diary  of  a  Medical  Student.     By  S.  C, 
Warren,  author  "  Ten  Thousand  a  Year."  1  voL    6t 

MISS    PARDOE'S    WORKS, 
Confessions    of   a    Pretty    Woman.      67 

Miss  Pardoe.    Complete  in  one  large  octavo  volume 

Price  Fifty  cents. 
The  Jealous  Wife.    By  Miss  Pardoe.    Complete 

in  one  large  octavo  volume.    Price  Fifty  cents. 
The    Wife's    Trials.    By  Miss  Pardoe.     Con* 

plete  in  one  large  octavo  volume.    Price  Fifty  cent*. 
The  Rival  Beauties.    By  Miss  Pardoe.    Com 
plete  in  one  large  octavo  volume.    Price  Fifty  cents. 
Romance   of  the    Harem.    By  Miss  Pardoe 

Complete  in  one  large  octavo  vol.  Price  Fifty  oent*. 
Miss  Pardoe's  Complete  Works,  fhii 

comprises   the  whole  of  the  above  Five  works,  amA 

are  bound  in  cloth,  gilt,  in  one  large  octavo  vohtmtt, 

Prioe  $2.50.  % 

The  Adopted  Heir.    By  Miss  Pardoe.   Twtrete. 

paper.    Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  cloth,  $1.26. 

GEORGE    SAND'S   WORKS. 

Consnelc.  By  George  Sand.  Translated  from  titt 
French,  by  Fayette  Robinson.  Complete  aai  aa»- 
bridged.  One  volume.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

Countess  of  Rudolstadt.  The  Sequel  to  "  Co* 
suelo."  Translated  from  the  original  French.  Com 
plete  and  unabridged  edition.  One  vol  60  cents. 

Indiana.  By  author  of  "Consuelo,"  etc.  A  verf 
bewitchi»g  and  interesting  work.  Two  volu.,  pap* 
cover.  Price  $1.00 ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.M 

First  and  True  l«ove.  By  author  of  "Conci 
elo,"  "  Indiana,"  eta,  Illustrated.  Price  60  eeate. 

The  Corsair.      A  Venetian  Tale.    Prioe  35  •en^ 


any  of  the  above  Worki  w?   te  irat  by  X***  fr»  of  Postage,  on  revtipt  of 


T.  B    tfETESSON  &  BROTHERS'   iJSl   JF  PTTBLICATIOffS.         9 


COOK    BOOKS. 

P«ierg«ms'  New  Cook  P^oJc;  or,  Useful  Re 
ceipts  for  the  Housewife  tad  the  uninitiated.  Fall 
*t  valuable  receipts,  all  original  and  never  before 
published,  all  of  which  will  be  found  to  be  very 
valuable  and  of  daily  use.  Complete  in  one  large 
volume,  cloth.  Price  $1.26. 

Hiss  Leslie'!  New  Cookery  Boole.  Being  the 
largest,  best,  and  most  complete  Cook  Book  ever  got 
up  by  Mine  Leslie.  How  first  published.  One  vol- 
nme,  bound.  Price  $1.25. 

Widdifleld's  New  Cook  Book,  or,  Practical 
Receipts  for  the  Housewife.  One  volume,  cloth.  Price 
Oae  Dollar. 

Urs.  Male's  New  Cook  Book.  By  Mrs.  Sarah. 
J.  Hale.  One  volume,  bound.  Price  One  Dollar. 

Miss  L.eslie'8  New  Receipts  for  Cooking. 
Complete  in  one  volume,  bound.  Price  One  Dollar. 

MRS.  KALE'S   RECEIPTS. 
Krs.    Male's   Receipts    for  the    Million. 

Containing  Four  Thousand  Five  Hundred  and  Forty- 
tve  Receipts,  Facts,  Directions,  and  Knowledge  for 
All,  in  the  Useful,  Ornamental,  and  Domestic  Arts. 
Being  a  complete  Family  Directory  and  Household 
Guide  for  the  Million.  By  Mrs.  Sarah  J.  Hale.  One 
Yoltuue,  800  paged,  strongly  bound.  Price,  $1.26. 

FRANCATELLI'S  FRENCH  COOK. 
VVancatelli's  Celebrated  French  Cook 
Book.  The  Modern  Cook.  A  Practical 
Guide  to  the  Culinary  Art,  in  all  its  branches ;  com 
prising,  in  addition  to  English  Cookery,  the  moat 
approved  and  recherchS  systems  of  French,  Italian 
tnd  German  Cookery ;  adapted  as  well  for  tae  largest 
establishments,  as  for  the  use  of  private  families. 
By  CHARLES  ELME  FRANCATELLI,  pupil  tc  the 
celebrated  CAREME,  and  late  Maltre-d'H6tel  and 
Chief  Cook  to  her  Majesty,  the  Queen  of  England. 
With  Sixty -Two  Illustrations  of  various  dishes.  Re 
printed  from  the  Ninth  London  Edition,  carefully  re 
vised  and  considerably  enlarged.  Complete  in  one 
large  octavo  volume  of  Six  Hundred  pages,  strongly 
fcound,  and  printed  on  the  finest  double  super  cal 
endered  paper.  Price  Three  Dollars  a  copy. 

G.  P.  R.  JAMES'  NEW  BOOKS. 

fffee  Cavalier.    An  Historical  Romance.    With  * 
steel  portrait  of  the  author.    Two  vols. ,  paper  cover. 
Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  $1.26. 
bord  Montagu's  Page.     Two  volumes,  paper 
cover.    Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  vol. ,  cloth,  $1.26. 
The  Man  in  Black.    Price  60  cents. 
Arrah  Neil.    A  Novel.    Price  60  cent*.     . 
Vary  of  Burgundy.    Price  60  cents. 
Eva  St.  Clair  |  and  other  Tale*.    Price  SB  cent*. 
•WORKS  BT  THE  BEST  AUTHORS. 
The  Quaker  Soldier  §  or,  The  British  in 
Philadelphia.    By  a  noted  Judge.     Two  vols., 
paper  cover.    Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  cloth,  $1.25. 
Cur  re  r  Lyle  j  or,  The  Autobiography  of 
an  Actress.    Written  by  Herself.    Two  volumes, 
paper  cover.    Price  $1.00 ;  or  in  cloth,  for  $1.26. 
lilfe  and  Beauties  of  Fanny  Fern.    Two 

vols.,  paper,  price  $1.00 ;  or  in  cloth,  for  $1.26. 
Yhe  Roman  Traitor.   By  H.  W.  Herbert.  Two 
volumes,  paper.    Price  $1.00 ;  or  in  cloth,  for  $1.26. 

WORK-TABLE,  EMBROIDERY,  etc. 
Vhe    Lady's    Work-Table  Book.    Full  of 

vlatea.  Beautifully  bound  in  crimson  doth,  gilt. 
Price  One  Dollar. 

ftee  Ladies*  Complete  Guide  to  Needle* 
work  and  Embroidery.  This  ia  the  best 
work  on  this  subject  ever  published.  One  volume, 
cloth.  Price  $1.26. 

J.  F.   SMITH'S   BEST   WORKS. 

<S*he  Usurer's  Victim.    Complete  in  one  large 

volume.    Price  60  cents. 
Adelaide  Waldegrave  ;    or,  The  Trials  of  a 

Governess.    Complete  in  one  large  vol.    Price  50  cts. 


HUMOROUS  ILLUSTRATED  WORKS. 

Memoirs  of  Vidocq,  Principal  Agent  of  the 
French  Police.  Written  by  Himself.  With  illus 
trative  engravings.  Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 
Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

Major  Jones'  Courtship  and  Travels* 
Beautifully  illustrated.  One  vol.,  cloth.  Price  $1.2i. 

Bigh  Life  in  New  York.  By  Jonathan  Slick. 
Beautfully  Illustrated.  Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 
Price  One  Dollar ;  or  bound  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1,26. 

Major  Jones'  Scenes  in  Georgia.  Full  of 
beautiful  illustrations.  One  vol. ,  cloth.  Price  $1. 30. 

Judge  Ha  Itbur  ton's  Yankee  Stortoit, 
Tw<»  vols.,  paper  cover.  Price  $1.00 ;  or  cloth,  $1.29. 

Simon  Suggs'  Adventures  and  Travels. 
Illustrated.  One  volume,  cloth.  Price  $1.26. 

Humors  of  Falconbridge.  Two  vols.,  pa-pet 
cover.  Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 

Piney  "Woods  Tavern)  or,  Sam  Slick  in 
Texas.  Cloth,  $1.25 ;  or  2  vols.,  paper  cover,  $1.00. 

Sam  Slick,  the  Clockmaker.  By  Judg* 
Haliburton.  Illustrated.  One  volume,  cloth,  $1.25; 
or  two  volumes,  paper  cover,  $1.00. 

The  Swamp  Doctor's  Adventures  im 
the  South-West.  Containing  the  whole  of  th« 
Louisiana  Swamp  Doctor  ;  Streaks  of  Squatter  Life ; 
and  Far- Western  Scenes ;  in  a  Series  of  Forty-Tw* 
Humorous  Southern  and  Western  Sketches,  descrip 
tive  of  Incident  and  Character.  With  14  Illustration* 
from  designs  by  Darley.  Cloth.  Price  $1.25. 

Major  Thorpe's  Scenes  in  Arkansaw  ' 
containing  the  whole  of  the  "Quarter  Race  in  Ken 
tucky,"  and  "Bob  Herring,  tha  Arkansas  Beat 
Hunter,"  to  whieh  is  added  the  "  Drama  in  Pokar 
ville,"  "A  Night  in  a  Swamp,"  and  other  Stories 
With  Sixteen  Illustrations  from  Original  Daaigns  by 
Barley.  Complete  in  one  volume,  cloth.  Price  $1.25 
The  Big  Bear's  Adventures  and  Trav 
els  s  containing  the  whole  of  the  Adventures  ant 
Travels  of  the  "  Big  Bear  of  Arkansaw, "  and  "  Straj 
Subjects."  With  Eighteen  Illustrations  from  Origi 
nal  Designs  by  Darley.  One  voL,  bound.  Price  $1.35. 
Dow's  Short  Patent  Sermons.  First 
Series.  By  Dow,  Jr.  Containing  128  Sermontu 
Complete  in  one  vol.,  bound  in  cloth,  for  One  Doiiai 
or  in  paper  cover,  75  cents. 

Dow's   Short    Patent  Sermons.    Second 

Series.    By  Dow,  Jr.    Containing  144  Sermon* 

One  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.00 ;  or  in  paper  cover,  75  cents 

Dow's  Short    Patent    Sermons.     Third 

Series.    By  Dow,  Jr.    Containing  116  Sermons 

One  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.00 ;  or  In  paper  cover,  75  outs. 

Dow's   Short  Patent  Sermons.    Fourth 

Series.    By  Dow,  Jr.    Containing  152  Sermons. 

One  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.00 ;  or  in  paper  cover,  75  cents. 

Frank  Forester's    Sporting  Scenes  and 

Characters.  Illustrated.  Two  vols.,  cloth,  $2.60. 

American  Joe  Miller.   With  100  Illustrations 

25  cents. 

EUGENE    SUE'S    GREAT    NOVELS. 
Illustrated  "Wandering  Jew.    With  Eighty 

seven  large  Illustrations.    Two  vola.    Price  $1.00. 
Mysteries    of  Paris;    and  Gerolstein,  ik» 

Sequel  to  it.    Two  vols.,  paper  cover.    Price  $1.00. 
Martin  the  Foundling.    Beautifully  Illartr*. 

ted.    Two  volumes,  paper  cover.    Price  One  Dollar 
First  Love.    A  Story  of  the  Heart.    Price  25  oenK 
Woman's  Love.    Illustrated.    Price  25  cents 
The  Man-of-War's-Man.    One  vol.    25  cents. 
The  Female  Bluebeard.    One  vol.    2&  cents. 
Raoul  de  Surville.    One  volume.    Price  25  ets. 

REV.    C.   WADSWORTH'S  SERMONS. 

America's  Mission.  A  Thanksgiving  Discourse, 
By  Rev.  Charles  Wadtworth.  Price  25  cents. 

Thankfulness  and  Character.  Two  Dis» 
courses.  By  Rev.  Charles  Wadsworth.  Price  S5  ets, 

Politics  in  Religion.  A  Thanksgiving  Sermon. 
By  Rev.  Charles  Wadsworth.  Price  12>{  cents. 


•(  any  of  the  above  Works,  will  be  sent  by  Hail,  Free  of  Postage,  on  receipt  ef 


10      T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  LIST  OF  PUBLICATIONS. 


SMOLLETT'S    GREAT    WORKS. 

Adventures  of  Peregrine  Pielclc.  Complete 

in  two  volumes,  paper  cover.    Price  One  Dollar. 
Ferdinand  Count  Fathom.    Price  00  stilt, 
Roderick  Random.    Price  Fifty  cent*. 
Humphrey  Clinker.    Price  Fifty  cents. 
Bir  Lanncelot  Greaves.    Price  25  cent*. 

HENRY    FIELDING'S    WORKS. 

Vom  Jones  |  or,  the  History  of  a  Foundling.  Com 
plete  in  twv.  \arge  vol«.,  paper  coyer.    Price  $1.00. 
;  Adventure*  of  Joseph  Andrew*.    00  cent*. 
Amelia.    Price  Fifty  cents. 

Jonathan  Wild.  His  Life  and  Adventure*. 
Price  2f  cents. 

CHARLES    LEVER'S   WORKS. 

Charles  O'Malley,  fine  ed.,  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.60 
Harry  Lorrequer,  fine  ed.,  one  yoL,  cloth,..  1.00 
Jft«k  Hint  on,  fine  edition,  one  voL,  cloth,...  1.00 
.Pavenport  Dunn,  fine  ed.,  one  vol.,  cloth,.  1.00 
Worn  Burke  of  Ours,  fine  ed.,  1  TO!.,  cloth,.  1.25 
Arthur  O'Leary,  fine  ed.,  one  vol.,  cloth,...  1.25 

Con  Cregan,  fine  edition,  one  vol.,  cloth, 1.25 

Knight  of  Gwynne,  fine  ed.,  1  voU,  cloth,.  1.25 
Valentin*  Vox,  fine  edition,  one  vol.,  cloth,.  1.50 
C*n  Thousand  a  Year,  fine  ed.,  1  vol.,cloth,  1.00 

AINS WORTH'S    BEST    WORKS. 

Life  of  Jack  Sheppard,  th«  most  noted  burglar, 
robber,  and  jail  breaker,  that  ever  lived.  Illustrated. 
Price  50  cents. 

The  Tower  of  London.  With  over  One  Hun 
dred  splendid  Engravings.  Two  vols.  Price  $1.00. 

Pictorial  Life  «fc  Adventures  of  Guy 
Fawkes.  The  Bloody  Tower,  Ac.  Price  60  cents. 

The  Pictorial  Old  St.  Paul's.  A  Tale  of 
the  Plague  and  the  Fire.  Illustrated.  Price  50  cents. 

The  Pictorial  Newgate  Calendar  j  or,  The 
Chronicles  of  Crime.  Beautifully  Illustrated.  60  cts. 

The  Star  Chamber.  Beautifully  Illustrated. 
Price  60  cents. 

Mysteries  of  the  Court  of  Q,ueen 
Anne.  Price  60  cents. 

Mysteries  of  the  Court  of  the  Stuarts. 
Price  60  cents. 

Windsor  Castle.     One  volume.    Price  60  cents. 

Life  of  Henry  Thomas,  the  Western  Burglar 
and  Murderer.  Full  of  Plates.  One  vol.  26  cents. 

Pictorial  Life  and  Adventures  of  Dick 
Turpiu,  the  Burglar,  Murderer,  etc.  25  cents. 

Life  and  Adventures  of  the  Despera 
does  of  the  New  World.  Price  26  cents. 

Life  of  Ninon  De  L'Enclos.  With  her  Let 
ters  on  Love,  Courtship,  and  Marriage.  25  cents. 

Pictorial  Life  and  Adventures  of  Davy- 
Crockett.  One  volume.  Price  60  cents. 

Grace  O'Malley— Her  Life  «&.  Adven 
tures.  Price  38  cents. 

Life  of  Arthur  Spring.    Price  25  cents. 

The  Miser's  Daughter.  Complete  in  two 
large  volumes.  Price  $1.00. 

LIK BIG'S    WORKS    ON    CHEMISTRY. 

Agricultural  Chemistry.    Price  26  cent*. 

Animal  Chemistry.  Complete  in  one  vol.  26  cts. 

Familiar  Letters  on    Chemistry. 

The  Potato  Disease. 

Chemistry  and  Physies  In  relation  to  Physi 
ology  and  Pathology. 
The  above  Five  works  of  Professor  Liebig  are  aiso 

published  complete  in  one  large  octavo  volume,  bound. 

Price  $1.60.    The  three  last  works  are  only  published 

im  the  bound  volume. 


REYNOLDS'    GREAT    ROMANCES. 
Mysteries    of    the    Court     of     Londoeb* 

Complete  in  two  large  vols.,  paper  cover.    $1.00. 
Rose  Foster;  or,  "The  Second  Series  of  the  Mys 
teries  of  the  Court  of  London. "   3  vois.,  paper.   $1.60. 
Caroline    of    Brunswick;     or,  the    "Thir4 

Series  of  the  Mysteries  of  the   Court  of  London.* 

Two  volumes,  paper  cover.    Price  One  Dollar*. 
Venetia  Trelawney  j  being  the  "Fourth  Series, 

or  final  conclusion  of  the  Mysteries  of  the  Court  o* 

London."    Two  vols.,  paper  cover.    Price  $1.00. 
Lord  Saxondale ;  or,  The  Court  of  Queen  Victoria, 

Two  volumes,  paper  cover.    Price  One  Dollar. 
Count  Christoval.    The  "  Sequel  to  Lord  Saxo» 

dale."    Two  vols.,  paper  cover.    Price  One  Dollar. 
Rosa  Lambert;  or  The  Memoirs  of  an  TTnfort* 

nate  Woman.    Two  vals.,  paper.    Price  One  Dolls*. 
Mary  Price)  or,  The    Adventures  of  a  Servant 

Maid.    Two  vols.,  paper  cover.    Price  One  Dollar. 
Eustace  Q,uentin.    A  "  Sequel  to  Mary  Pries,* 

Two  volumes,  paper  cover.    Price  One  Dollar. 
Joseph  Wilmot ;  or,  The  Memoirs  of  a  Man-Ser 
vant.    Two  volumes,  paper  cover.    Price  One  Dollar. 
The  Banker's  Daughter.  A  Sequel  to  "  Joseph 

Wilmot."   Two  vols.,  paper  cover.    Price  One  Dollar. 
Kenneth.    A  Romance  of  the  Highlands.     Two 

volumes,  paper  cover.    Price  One  Dollar. 
The  Rye-House  Plot ;  or,  Euth,  the  Conspir*. 

tor's  Daughter.    Two  vols.,  paper  cover.    $1.00. 
The    Opera    Dancer;     or,   The  Mysteries  of 

London  Life.    Complete  in  one  octavo  vol.    60  centa 
The  Ruined   Gamester.     With  Illustrations. 

Complete  in  one  large  octavo  voL    Price  Fifty  cents* 
Wallace:   the  Hero  of  Scotland.    Beautt 

fully  Illustrated  with  Thirty-eight  plates.    60  cent*, 
The   Child  of  Waterloo ;  or,  The  Horrors  at 

the  Battle  Field.    Complete  in  one  octavo  vol.    60  eta. 
The  Countess  and  the  Page.    Complete  in 

one  large  volume.    Price  60  cents. 
Ciprina;    or,   The   Secrets  of  a  Picture 

Gallery.    Complete  in  one  large  volumo.    60  eta, 
The    Necromancer.    A  Romance  of  the  Timei 

of  Henry  the  Eighth.    Two  vols.    Price  One  Dollar. 
The  Discarded  Queen.    One  vol.    60  cents. 
Robert  Bruce  s  the  Hero  King  of  Scot* 

land,  with  his  Portrait.    One  vol.    Price  50  cent*. 
Isabella   Vincent ;   or,  The  Two  Orphans.    On* 

volume,  paper  cover.    Price  60  cents. 
Vivian  Bertram*;  or,  A  Wife's  Honor.    A  Sequai 

to  "Isabella  Vincent.','    One  vol.,  papen    o^centa, 
The  Countess  of  Lascelles.  The  Continuatioi 

to  "Vivian  Bertram."    One  vol.,  paper.    60  cents. 
Duke   of  Marchmont.    Being  the  Conclusioi 

of  "  The  Countess  of  Lascelles. "    Price  Fifty  cents. 
Gipsy   Chief.    Beautifully  Illustrated.     Complet* 

in  one  large  octavo  volume.    Price  Fifty  cents. 
Pickwick  Abroad.    A  Companion  to  the  "  Pick- 

wick  Papers,"  by  " Boz."    One  vol.    Price  60  cents. 
Queen  Joanna ;  or,  the  Mysteries  «f  th» 

Court  of  Naples.    Price  50  cents. 

The  Soldier's   Wife.     Beautifully  IllMfcrated. 

Price  60  cents.1* 

May  Middleton}or,The  History  of  a  *»rt«M. 
Price  50  cents. 

The  Loves  of  the  Harem.    Price  60  cents. 
Ellen   Percy)  or,  The  Memoirs  of  an  .actress. 
Price  60  cents. 

Massacre  of  Gleneoe.    "Price  60  centa. 
Agnes  Evelyn ;  or,  Beauty  and  Pleasure.    00  cts 
The  Parricide.    Beautifully  Illustrated.    50  cts. 
Life  in  Paris.    Handsomely  Illustrated.    00  cts. 
\   Edgar  Montrose.    One  volume.    Price  25  cents. 

MARRYATT'S    COMPLETE    WO 

The  Works  of  Captain  Marryatt. 

plete  in  one  large  royal  octavo  vol.,  bound.    $240. 


Copies  of  aiiy  of  the  above  Works  will  be  sent  by  Mail,  Free  of  Postage,  on  receipt  of  PrUft 


T,  B.  PETERSON   &  BROTHERS'  LIST   2>F   PUBLICATIONS.      1] 


HtMOROUS    AMERICAN    "WORKS. 

tfisinal  Illustrations  by  Barley  and  Others, 

Done  up  in  Illuminated  Covers. 
Major    Jones'     Courtship.      Wit\   Thirteen 

Illustrations,  from  designs  by  Darley.     Price  60  cts. 
Dr/tina  in   Poker ville.  By  J.  M.  Field.    Wita 

Illustrations  by  Darley.    Price  Fifty  cents. 
Louisiana     Swamp    Doctor.    By  author  of 

"  Cupping  on  the  Sternum."    Illustrated  by  Darley 

Price  50  cents. 
Charcoal  Sketches.    By  Joseph  C.  NeaL    With 

Illustrations.     Price  50  cents. 

Yankee   Amongst  the  Mermaids.    By  W. 

E.  Burton.    With  Illustrations  by  Darley.    60  cents. 

misfortunes  of   Peter  Faber.  By  Joseph  C. 

Heal.    With  Illustrations  by  Darley.     Price  50  cents. 
Major  Jones'  Sketches  of  Travel.     With 

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bomb.    By  author  of  "  Wild  Western  Scenes,"  etc. 

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Count  of  Moute-Cristo.  By  Alexandra  Duaaa*. 

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trated.    Two  vols.,  paper.    $1.00;  or  in  cloth,  $1.SS. 
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celebrated  novel  of  the   "  Count  of  M«nte~Crist».' 

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The    Memoirs  of  a  Marquis.    Complete  S» 

two  vols.    Price  One  Dollar. 
Fernande;    or,     The    Fallen    Angel.      A 

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SCENES." 
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bomb.    Price  50  cents. 
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MRS.  GREY'S  POPULAR  NOVELS. 

Price  Twenty-Five  Cents  «arh 

Gipsy's  Daughter.        Baronet's  Daugfe-* 
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The  Little  Wife.  Hyacintlie. 

Manoeuvring  Moth*     Passion  &  Prinei- 

er.  _P*e«    &0  «ents. 

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Prlm« 


Copies  of  any  of  the  above  Works  will  be  sent  by  Mail,  Fre«  of  Postage,  on  Receipt  of  Priot, 


12       T.   B.  PETEKSON   &  BROTHERS'   LIS1    OF   PUBLICATIONS. 


FRANK    FAIRLEGH'S   WORKS.  | 

Frank  Fairlegh  ;  or,  Scenes  in  the  Life  of  a  Pri 
vate  PupiL  BY  Frank  E.  £medley,  Esq.  Illustrated. 
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D'ISRAELI'S     POPULAR    NOVELS. 

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USEFUL  BOOKS    FOR   EVERYBODY 

Lardner's      One      Thousand     and     T«a 

Things     Worth    Knowing;    to  which  U 

added  Employment  to  All ;  or  a  Hundred  Ways  to 

make  and  keep  Money.     Price  25  cents. 
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Arthur's  Receipts  for  Putting  up  Fruit* 

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T.   S.   ARTHUR'S   BEST   WORKS. 

Price  Twenty-Five  Cent«  «oc&. 
The  Lady  at  Home. 
Year  after  Marrtafe. 
Cecilia   Howard. 
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Agnes;   or,  The  Possessed., 
Love  in  a  Cottage. 
Mary  Moreton. 
The   Divorced   Wife. 
The  Two  Brides. 
Lucy  Sandford* 
The  Banker's  Wife. 
The    Two  Merchants. 
Insubordination. 
Trial  and  Triumph. 
The  Iron  Rule. 
Pride   and  Prudence. 

HARRY    COCKTON'S    WORKS. 
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volume,  paper  cover.    Price  60  cts. ;  or  a  finer  ediUofc 

in  cloth,  for  $1.60. 
Sylvester    Sound,    the     Somnambulist* 

Illustrated.    One  volume.    Price  60  cents. 
The  Sisters.    By  Henry  Cockton,  author  of  "  V»* 

entine  Vox,  the  Ventriloquist."    Price  50  cents. 
The  Steward.    By  Henry  Coekton.    Price  60  oenU 
Percy  Effingham.    By  Henry  Cockton.    60  eta. 

DR.   HOLLICK'S    WORKS. 
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with  a  large  Dissected  Plate  of  the  Human  J-igurU 

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Guide  for  Everybody.    Priee  25  cents. 

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Lessons. 
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I    B    PETEESON   &  BROTHERS'  LIST  OF  PUBLICATIONS.       13 


BT    POPULAR    AUTHORS. 

Robert  Oalciands  ;  or.  The  Outcast  Orphan.     By- 

Leigh   Ritchie,  author  of  "  Bobber  of  the  Rhine," 

etc.    Price  25  cents. 
Horedun.    A  Tale  of  1210.    87  Sir  Walter  Scott, 

Bart.,  author  of  "  Waverlj,"  "  Ivanhoe,"j«t«.  60  eta. 
Flirtations  in  America  ;  or,  High  Life  in  New 

York.    Complete  in  one  volume.    Price  60  cents. 
Whe  Pride  of  Life.  87  author  of  "Henpecked 

Hnsband."    Two  volumes,  paper.    Price  $1.00;  or 

one  volume,  cloth,  $1.26. 
Tlie    Cabin    and   Parlor.      67  J.  Thornton 

Randolph.    60  cents  in  paper  ;  or  in  cloth  for  $1.0*?. 
Etife  in  the  South.    An  Antidote  to  "  Uncle  Tom's 

Cabin.  "  With  Illustrations  b7  Darle7.  Price  60  cents. 
Hysterics  of  Three  Cities  i  Boston,  New 

JTork,  and  Philadelphia.    87  A.  J.  H.  Dng&nne.    One 

volume.     Price  50  cents. 
Red  Indians  of  Newfoundland.  A  beauti 

fully  Illustrated  Indian  Stor7.   By  author  of  "  Prairie 

Bird."    Price  50  cents. 
Whitehall;    or,  The  Times  of  Oliver  Cromwell. 

Complete  in  one  volume.  Illustrated.  Price  60  cts. 
T-he  Greatest  Plague  of  Life  j  or,  The  Adven 

tures  of  a  Lady  in  Search  of  a  Good  Servant.  60  cts. 
Cor  I  mi  e  ;  or,  Italy.  87  Madame  De  Stael. 

The  poetical  passages  by  L.  E.  L.  Price  Fifty  cents. 
Ittorente's  History  of  the  Inquisition  in 

Spain.    Complete  in  one  octavo  vol.    Price  60  cts. 
Genevra.    87  Miss  Fairfield.    Price  60  cents. 
Wilfred    Montressor  j  or,  New  York  Life  Ex 

posed  ;  or  the  Exposition  of  the  Secret  Order  of  the 

Seven.     Illustrated  with  87  Illustrative  Engravings. 

Two  volumes.    Price  One  Dollar. 
Henry    Clay's    Portrait.    By  Hagle.     Size  22 

by  30  in.  Price  $1.00  a  copy.  Originally  sold  at  $5.00. 
aihe  Miser's  Heir.  87  P.  H.  Myers.  Price  60 

•eats  in  paper  cover  ;  or  75  cents  in  cloth,  gilt. 
Victims  of  Amusements.    By  Martha  Clark. 

Suitable  for  Sunday  Schools.  One  vol.,  cloth.  38  cts. 
Calathlel.  By  Bev.  George  Croly.  Price  60  cents. 
Aristocracy}  or,  Life  among  the  Upper  Ten. 

Price  60  cents. 

Tom    Racquet}   ud'Rb  Three  Maiden  Aunts. 
Price  60  cents. 

The  Two  Lovers.  A  Domestic  Story.  Price  60  cts. 
Mtetcb.es    in  Ireland.     By  W.  M.  Thackeray. 
Price  50  cents. 

The  Coquette.  One  of  the  best  books  over  written. 
Price  60  cents. 

The     Orphan     Sisters.      A    beautiful  book. 
Price  38  cents. 

Romish  Confessional.     By  M.  Mlchelet.    One 
volume.    Price  60  cents. 

Abbey    of  Innismoyle.    By  Grace  Kennedy. 
Price  25  cents. 

Father    Clement.    By  author  of  "Dunallen." 
Price  50  cents. 

The  Fortune  Hunter.  By  Mrs.  Mowatt   38  cts. 
CHRISTY    <fc    "WOOD'S    SONQ    BOOKS. 

No  music  is  so  generally  esteemed,  or  songs  so  fre- 
qt»ntl7  sung  and  listened  to  with  so  much  delight,  as 
l«  the  music  and  the  songs  of  the  Ethiopian  Minstrels. 
Hxe7  have  commenced  a  new  epoch  m  Music,  and  the 
best  works  relating  to  them  are  those  mentioned  below. 
Bach  Book  contains  near  Sevent7  Songs. 


A  Wood's  Song  Book.    Illustrated 
Price  12>£  cents. 

The  Melodeon  Song  Book.    Price  12}£  cents. 

The  Plantation  Melodies.    Price  12>£  cents. 

The  Ethiopian  Song  Book.    Price  12>£  cents. 

Tfce  Serenaders'  Song  Book.    Price  12>£  cts. 

CHiristy  and  White's  Complete  Ethio 
pian  Melodies,  containing  the  whole  of  the 
above,  are  beautiful^  bound  in  one  volume,  gilt  back 
Price  75  cents. 


GREEN'S  WORKS  ON  GAMBLING* 

Gambling  Exposed)  a  full  Exposition  cc  ail  tin 
various  Arts,  Mysteries,  and  Miseries  of  Gambling. 
87  J.  H.  Green,  the  Reformed  Gambler.  Complete 
in  two  volumes,  paper  cover.  Price  One  Dollar ;  oj 
bound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  gilt,  $1.26. 

The  Gambler's  Life  5  or,  The  Autobiography  of 
the  Life,  Adventures,  and  Personal  Experience  of 
Jonathan  H.  Green.  Written  by  Himself.  With  « 
Steel  Portrait  of  the  Author,  and  other  Illustrative 
Engravings.  Two  volumes,  paper  cover.  Price  Ons 
Dollar ;  or  bound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  gilt,  $1.25. 

Secret  Band  of  Brothers.  A  Full  and  Trrw 
Exposition  of  the  various  Crimes,  Villainies,  and  Mis- 
deeds  of  this  powerful  organization  in  the  United 
States  and  California  By  J.  H.  Green,  author  of 
"  Gambling  Exposed,"  "  The  Gambler's  Life,"  "  Th« 
Reformed  Gambler."  Two  vols.,  paper  cover,  price 
One  Dollar  ;  or  in  cloth,  price  $1.25. 

The  Reformed  Gambler.  A  Full  and  Com 
plete  History  of  the  Later  Years  of  the  Life  of  Jona 
than  H.  Green,  the  Reformed  Gambler.  To  which  is 
added  a  full  Exposition  of  the  Game  of  Thimbles-; 
Diamond  Cut  Diamond,  or  the  Gentleman's  Game; 
Dead  Open  and  Shut ;  Five  Aces  Beaten ;  Post  Office 
Game  ;  Pound  Cake,  or  Ring  Game  ;  Grab  Loo  ;  an4 
other  Games.  Illustrated.  Two  vols.,  paper,  price 
One  Dollar ;  or  in  cloth,  price  $1.26. 

SEA    AND    PIRATICAL     TALES. 
Pictorial  Life  and  Adventures  of  Jack 
Adams,  the  celebrated  Sailor  and  Mutineer.    50  cts. 
Life  and  Adventures  of  Ben  Brace,  tb» 

Sailor.    Price  60  cents. 

The  Petrel;  or,  Lo-ro  on  the  Ocean.    A  Sea  Novel. 
By  Admiral  Fisher.    One  Volume.    Price  60  cents. 
Price  of  the  following,  Twenty-Five  Cent*  each. 

The  Doomed  Ship  ;  or,  The  Wreck  of  the  Arc 
tic  Regions.  67  Harry  Hazel. 

The  Pirate's   Son.    Illustrated. 

Th«  Three  Pirates ;  or,  Cruise  of  the  Tornada, 

The  Flying  Dutchman. 

Life   of  Alexander    Tardy,  the    Plrat£' 

The  Flying  Tankee.    87  Harry  Hazel. 

The   Yankee  Middy  j  or,  The  Two  Frigates. 

The  Gold  Seekers  j  or,  Cruise  of  the  Lively  Sally 

The    River    Pirates.     A  Tale  of  New  York. 

Dark  Shades  of  City  Life.  A  Sequel  to 
"River  Pirates." 

Rats  of  the  Seine  j  or,  River  Thieves  of  Paris. 

Yankees  in  Japan  \  or,  Adventures  of  a  Ballot; 

Red   King ;    or,  The  Corsair  Chieftain. 

Morgan,  the  Buccaneer  t  or,  The  Freebooters 
of  the  Antilles. 

Jack  Junk ;  or,  The  Tar  for  all  Weathers. 
Davis,  the  Pirate  §  or,  Freebooter  of  the  Pacific, 
Valdez,  'the  Pirate  j  His  Life  and  Adventtuti* 
Jack  Ariel  j  or,  Life  on  Board  an  East  Indiaman. 
Gallant  Tom  j  or,  The  Perils  of  the  Ocean. 
Yankee  Jack  5  or,  The  Perils  of  a  Privateersnuuk 
Harry  Helm ;  or,  The  Cruise  of  the  Bloodhound. 
Harry  Tempest  ;  or,  The  Pirate's  Protege. 

BY    VARIOUS    GOOD    AUTHORS. 
The  Iron  Cross.    By  Sylvanus  Cobb,  Jr.  .26  ets 
The  King's  Cruisers.    By  Harry  HazeL    26  cts 
Charles  Ransford  |  er,  Love  on  Board  a  Cruiaex 

Price  26  cents. 

SybilGrey.   A  Romance  of  the  Opera.    Price  26  eta. 

The  Mysterious    Marriage*     Price  26  cent* 

The   Mysteries   of  Love,   Courtship  and 

Marriage.    Their  Social,  Moral  and  Physical  R<v 

lations,  addressed  to  both  sexes:  with   Advice  and 

Hints  in  Choosing  a  Husband  or  Wife.     67  MICHAEi 

RYAN,  M.  D.,  Member  of  the  Ro7al  College  of  Phy- 

sians  and  Surgeons,  etc.,  etc.     First  American  from 

the   last  London  Edition,  with  improvements  an4 

additions.    With  beautiful  illustrations.    60  < 


may  of  the  above  Works  will  be  sent  by  Mail,  Free  of  Postage,  on  receipt  of  Fife* 


14       T.  B,  PETERSON    &  BUOTHEBS'   LIST 


PUBLICATIONS 


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Kate  Walsingham.  Ellen  Wareham. 

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The  Expectant.  The  Squire 
The  Fright.. 
Quiet.  Husband. 
The  Heiress. 

Merchant's  Daughter. 

SIR    E.   L.   BULWER'S    NOVELS. 
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The  Roue  ;  w,  The  Hazards  of  Women.    25  cents. 
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WORKS  BY  CELEBRATED  AUTHORS 

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Webster  and  Hayne's  Speeches  in  the 
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the  Senate  of  the  United  States,  March  7,  1850,  on 
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Mysteries  and  Miseries  of  New  Orleans. 
By  Ifed  Buntline.  Complete  in  one  volume. 

Jack  Downing's  Letters.  By  Major  Jack 
Downing. 

Agnes  Grey.    By  author  of  "  Jane  Eyre." 

A.  House  to  Let.    By  Charles  Dickens. 

Wreck  of  the  Golden  Mary. 

Perils  of  English  Prisoners. 

The  Two  Apprentices. 

Rose  Warrington.    By  Dnganne. 

Biege  of  Londonderry. 

Beautiful  French  Girl.    An  absorbing  book. 

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The   Mysterious  Marriage. 

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Gora. 
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Robinson. 

Life  and  Adventures  of  Jack  Raniu 
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The  Robber's  Wife.    A  Domestic  Romance. 
Red  IViJig ;  or,   The  Weird  Cruiser  of  Van  »W 

man's  Land. 

Obi;  or,  Three  Fingered  Jack. 
Lives  of  the  Felons.    Illustrated. 
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maker. 

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EXCELLENT    SHILLING    BOOKS. 

Price  12%  cents  each,  or  Ten  for  $1.00. 
Christmas  Carol.    By  Charles  Dickens. 
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Battle  of  Life.    By  Charles  Dickens. 
The  Holly-Tree  Inn.     By  Charles  Dickens. 
Seven  Poor  Travelers.    By  Dickens. 
Schoolboy,  and  other  Stories.    By  Diekn*. 
Sister  Rose.    By  Charles  Dickens. 
Lizzie    Leigh,  and    Miner's    Daughter** 

By  Charles  Dickens. 
The    Haunted    Man,     and     The    Gho*t*H 

Bargain.    By  Charles  Dickens. 
A  Wife's  Story.  From  Dickens'  Household  WoH* 
Yellow  Mask.  From  Household  Words. 
Mother  and  Stepmother.    By  Dickens. 
Throne  of  Iniquity.     By  Rev.  Albert  Barae*. 
Woman.    By  Lucretia  Mott,  the  Quaker  Preacher 
Euchre. — Game  of  Euchre  and  its  Laws* 
Dr.  Berg's  Answer  to  Bishop  HiigJbesu 
Dr.  Berg's  Lecture  on  the  Jesuits* 
Life  of  the  Rev.  John  N.  Blafflt. 
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Mormonism  Exposed.     Full  of  Engraving* 


Copies  of  any  of  the  above  Works  will  be  sent  by  Mail,  Free  of  Postage,  ou  receipt  of 


ntif 

B.  PETEKSOH   &  BEOTHEES1  LIST  OF  PUBLICATIOHS. 


!i  ifi'Aill 

BLICATIOHS.       If 


T. 

WALTER  SCOTT'S  WORKS, 

FORTY-FOUR    DIFFERENT    EDITIONS. 

9&-  No  Library  or  Household  whatever  can  be  complete  without  having  in  *^8l 
it  a  Set  of  one  of  Petersons'  Editions  of  the  Works  of  Sir  Walter  Scott 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 

BY  SIR  WALTER    SCOTT. 

With,  a  magnificent  Portrait  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  engraved  from  the  last  Portrait 
lor  wliicli  lie  ever  sat,  at  Abbottsford,  with  bis  Autograph  under  it. 

Petersons'  is  the  cheapest  and  only  complete  edition  of  the  far-famed  Works  of  Sir  Walter  8co&,  published  in 
the  United  States.  It  has  been  well  observed  by  an  able  and  eloquent  American  critic,  that  "  If  ever  writer  de 
served  universal  citizenship,  it  was  Sir  Walter  Scott.  He  was  the  Poet  of  Nature,  the  delineator  of  his  species  IK 
every  climate  and  on  every  soil ;  so  that  wherever  his  works  were  known,  there  was  he  to  be  regarded  as  a  nativ* 
and  a  denizen,  and  his  works  should  be  a  household  companion  in  every  homestead  in  the  land."  Petersons' 
edition  of  the  Waverley  Novels  is  reprinted  from  the  original  Edinburgh  Edition,  that  was  issued  in  Forty-EigM 
Volumes,  at  a  cost  of  Seventy-Two  Dollars,  and  comprises  the  following  works : — 


HEART  OF  MID  LOTHIAN. 
BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOB. 
THE  BLACK  DWARF. 
GUY  MANNERING. 
THE  ANTIQUARY. 
OLD  MORTALITY. 
WAVERLEY. 
KENILWORTH. 
THE  PIRATB. 
IVANHOB. 
ROB  ROY 


A  LEGEND  OF  MONTROSE. 
THE  FORTUNES  OF  NIGEL,    j 
PEVERIL  OF  THE  PEAK. 
QUENTIN  DUKWARD. 
ST.  RONAN'S  WELL. 
THE  MONASTERY, 
if  THE  BETROTHED. 

-...-^  KEDGAUNTLET. 

THE  TALISMAN. 
WOODSTOCK. 
THE  ABBOT, 


GLOSSARY  FOR  THE  NOVELS. 
THE  SURGEON'S  DAUGHTER. 
AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROB. 
THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  PERTH. 
COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS. 
THE  HIGHLAND  WIDOW 
TAPESTRIED  CHAMBEB 
ANNE  OF  GEIERSTEIR. 
CASTLE  DANGEROU& 
THE  LAIRD'S  JOCE 
TWO  DROVERS 


And  all  of  the  above  works  are  published  complete  in  Twenty-Sir  paper  cover  Volumes,  and  sold  at  the  loW 
yrice  of  25  Cents  for  each  volume,  or  $5.00  a  set,  and  contain*  every  word  that  is  in  the  Edinburgh  Editio^ 
Which  sells  at  Seventy-  Two  Dollars  a  copy. 

T.  B.  Peterson  &  Brothers  also  publish  the  whole  of  the  above,  complete  In  Five  large  octavo  volumes,  wit& 
Ucott'e  Portrait,  and  handsomely  engraved  steel  Title  Pages  to  each  volume,  the  whole  being  neatly  and  hand* 
sorooly  bound  in  various  styles.    This  is  the  cheapest  and  most  complete  and  perfect  edition  of  the  Waverley 
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M  marbled  edge,  gilt  edge  rolled,  etc,...  8.00 


Paper  cover,  26  volumes, 


SIH   WAX/TEH   SCOTT'S 

COMPLETE    AND    ENTIRE 

PROSE  AND  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Petersons'  is  the  only  complete,  entire,  and  uniform  edition  of  all  the  works  ever  written  by  Sir  Walter  Scott, 
published  in  the  United  States.    It  is  complete  in  Ten  large  octavo  volumes  of  over  7000  pages,  and  it  contains  thu 
Wnole  of  his  "  WAVERLEY  NOVELS,"  described  above  (which  only  forms  Five  of  the  Ten  volumes),  as  w»!l  as 
the  whole  of  his  PROSE,  POETICAL,  AND  DRAMATIC  WORKS  ;  together  with  his  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON,  aa4 
all  his  HISTORIES  AND  ESSAYS ;  with  the  MEMOIRS  OF  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT'S  LIFE,  by  J.  G.  Lockhart. 
nd  the  AUTHOR'S  LAST  CORRECTIONS  AND  ADDITIONS.    Complete  in  Ten  Large  Octavo  Volume*, 
sing  over  Seven  Thousand  pages,  and  bound  in  the  following  Twenty-Two  various  styles. 


comprising  over  Seven  Thousand  pages,  and  bound  in  the  following  Twenty-Two  various  sty 

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Paper  cover,  52  volumes, 10.01 


Copies  of  any  of  *ie  above  Works  will  be  sent  by  Hail,  Frea  of  Postage  9n  receipt  of  Pri*% 


CHARLES  DICKENS'  WORKS. 

Twenty-eight    ^Different    Editions. 


«  PETERSONS'  "  are  the  only  complete  and  uniform  editions  of  Charles  Dickens'  Works  ever  published  In  th* 
world;  they  are  printed  from  the  original  London  Editions,  and  are  the  only  editions  published  in  this  country.  Hfe 
library,  either  public  or  private,  can  be  complete  without  having  in  it  a  complete  set  of  the  works  of  this,  the  greate< 
•fall  living  authors.  Every  family  should  possess  a  set  of  one  of  the  following  editions. 

DUODECIMO    ILLUSTRATED   EDITION.     IN    30    VOLUMES. 

This  Edition  in  Duodecimo  form  is  beautifully  Illustrated  with  near  Six  Hundred  Steel  and  Wood  Illustration^ 
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Great  Expectations.  One  vol.,  cloth,. Price  $1.50 

Lamplighter'*  Story.    One  vol.,  cloth, 1.50 

Pickwick  Papers.   Two  vols.,  cloth, 2.50 

A  Tale  of  Two  Cities.    Two  vols.,  cloth,...  2.50 

Nicholas  Nickleby.    Two  vols.,  cloth 2.50 

David  Copperfield.    Two  vols.,  cloth, 2.50 

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PEOPLE'S    DUODECIMO    EDITION.     IN    17   VOLUMES. 

This  Duodecimo  edition  is  complete  in  Seventeen  volumes,  of  near  One  Thousand  pages  each,  with  two  illustrations  t* 
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Martin  Chuzzlewit.    Two  vols.,  cloth,...—  2.50 

Old  Curiosity  Shop.    Two  vols.,  cloth, 2.50 

Die  Kens'  New  Stories.    One  vol.,  cloth, 1.23 

Message  from  Sea.    One  vol.,  cloth, ._  1.25 

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Old  Curiosity  Shop. 
Bleak  House. 
David  Copperfield. 
Dombey  and  Son. 
Nicholas  Nickleby. 
Martin  Chuzzlewit. 


Christinas  Stories* 
Sketches  by  "  Boz." 
Dickens'  New  Stories* 
Oliver  Twist. 
Message  from  Sea. 


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ILLUSTRATED   OCTAVO    EDITION.     IN    17  VOLUMES.      » 

THIS  EDITION  IS  IN  SEVENTEEN  VOLUMES,  octavo,  and  is  printed  on  very  thick  and  fine  white  paper,  and  is  pro- 
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volume  contains  a  novel  complete,  and  maybe  had  in  complete  sets,  beautifully  bound  in  cloth,  for  Twenty-Five  Dollars^ 
Get;  or  any  volume  will  be  sold  separately,  at  One  Dollar  and  Fifty  cents  each.  The  following  are  their  respective  uame»« 


Price  of  a  set,  in  Half  calf,  antique, $42.00 

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Old  Curisosity  Shop. 
Bleak  House. 
David  Copperfield* 
Dombey  and  Son. 
Nicholas  Nickleby. 
Martin  Chuzzlewit. 


Christmas  Stories. 
Sketches  by  "Boz.» 
Oliver  Twist. 
Dickens'  New  Stories. 
American  Notes,  etc* 


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«  "        Full  Law  Library  ptyle, 34.00 

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LIBRARY   OCTAVO    EDITION.    IN   7    VOLUMES. 

Tffls  Edition  is  complete  in  SEVEN  very  large  octavo  volumes,  with  a  Portrait  on  steel  of  Charles  Dickens,  oontahdng 
the  whole  of  all  of  the  above  works  by  Charles  Dickens,  illustrated,  and  bound  in  various  styles. 


Price  of  a  set,  in  Half  calf,  marbled  edges $40.00 

"  "        Half  calf,  antique, -.  50.00 

"  "        Half  calf,  full  gilt  backs,  etc.,^...  60.0* 


a  set,  in  Black  Cloth,  in  seven  volumes,.  ..$10  50 
"  Scarlet  cloth,  extra  .....................  11-50 

«  Law  Library  style.  ..................  13.00 

«  Half  Turkey,  or  half  calf  ............  15.00 


Price  of  a  set,  fa  Half  calf,  marbled  edges,  French,...$17.00 

11        "  Half  calf,  antique,     „...  21. Of 

«        "  Half  calf,  lull  gilt  backs,  etc., 21.00 


CHEAP    EDITION,    PAPER    COVER.    IN    22    VOLUMES. 

TWa  edition  is  published  complete  in  Twenty-two  octavo  volumes,  in  paper  cover,  as  follows.  Price  Fifty  cents  a  volumf 


Great  Expectations. 
A.  Tale  of  Two  Cities. 
Pickwick  Papers. 
New  Years'  Stories. 
Barnaby  Rudge. 
Old  Curiosity  Shop. 


Lamplighter's  Story. 
David  Copperfield. 
Dombey  and  Son. 
Holiday  Stories. 
Nicholas  Nickleby. 
Martin  -Chuzzlewit. 


Message  from  the  Sea, 
Christmas   Stories. 
Dickens'  Short  Storie* 
Sketches  by  "  Boz." 
Dickens'  New  Stories* 
American    Notes* 

Little  Dorrit.  Bleak  House.  Pic-Nic  Papers.  Oliver  Twist* 

4^*  Copies  of  any  work,  in  cloth,  or  in  paper  cover,  or  any  set  of  either  of  the  Twenty-Jfight  Editions,  in  any  of  tht 
mrious  ekyles  of  bindings,  of  Charles  Dickens'  Works,  will  be  sent  to  any  person,  to  any  part  of  the  United  States,  fret 
^postage  or  any  other  expense,  oa  their  remitting  the  price  of  the  edition  they  may  wish,  to  the  publishers,  in  a 
Published  and  for  sale  by  T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS, 

No.  306  Chestnut  Street,  above  Third,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 


